The Griever
by Jebus Creiss
Summary: Death is the end of memory; memory never dies.  Set 30 years after the events of FFVIII; most characters, some weird-ish  pairings. Rated T for reasonably graphic violence.  Not a Squalphie, unless you squint.
1. What Windstorm?

Author's Notes before beginning:

I've always wondered where exactly Griever came into the story. Was he real, some sort of undiscovered GF? or did Ultimecia just make him up out of pure imagination? Hell, did Squall actually have a GF for an imaginary friend? So I decided to write something on him/it.

Please note that characters may be slightly (or massively in selected cases) OOC. This is mostly (I hope) courtesy of the thirty-odd years which have elapsed since the events of FFVIII.

A note on pairings herein: this fic is not intended for shipping, per se. But many of the characters are paired. Some are standard, some aren't. If you really _must_ know before you read, then here you are: Selphie X Irvine, Zell X Miss Pigtail, Quistis X Zone, Fujin X Nida, Seifer X (virtually anything with the correct anatomy) and Squall X Rinoa. The fic isn't _intended_ to be a Squalphie, but you could probably mistake it for one if you squinted hard enough.

A note on genres: honestly, this contains elements of a fair few of them. Certainly it has spiritual/supernatural overtones, it could probably fit into 'suspense', and there are a few romantic undertones too - and I suspect that just about anything I write will end up being humourous in one way or another. I will say, though, that the 'tragedy' aspect doesn't really kick in until closer to the end.

And a note on updates (added 20th February, 2011): The method by which this story is being updated is in blocks of three chapters per update. There is no real reason for this, apart from some twisted sense of time-organisation, which I otherwise tend to suck at. Readers who wish to head straight for the newest update should keep this in mind - unless you wish to reread from the start, as I tend to clean up any minor problems/mistakes noticed after initial posting. (The trick, of course, is not making any MAJOR ones in the first place...)

The world and all of its characters are copyright Square Enix. The story is mine.

* * *

**Chapter 1 – What Windstorm?**

Not a sound, not even a whispered scrape of boot-sole on rocky, thinly iced soil to betray his presence. Not a twitch out of place to alert the prey ahead. Not even his weapon, its long blade caked and stained dull over the years in the blood of literally countless monsters, could by an untimely glimmer give the hunter away.

This was not something he actually thought of, any more than he thought of being downwind from his targets, or the guttural, indistinct mutterings which always buzzed through his mind during such moments of stillness. It just came part-and-parcel with the hunt, inculcated into his being at a level beyond even instinct. And in any case, the hunter rarely _thought_ anything. It wasn't as if he couldn't, or at least not exactly. But the rhythms of his life did not, as a rule, demand it. He hunted, he stalked, he fought. He killed monsters. And the reason for killing them… well, he never bothered to think about that, either.

Whatever his reason, it likely wasn't greed. If he needed something from a carcass, he took it. Meat for sustenance, fur to blood the traps he'd set up if the prey's hunting patterns called for it, the occasional magicked stone or more esoteric spoils which occasionally spilled out of their innards. More often, the carcass would just be left there, its slow decay luring more predators for him to kill in turn.

Much like the one he'd left yesterday. Snow lions had no problem eating carrion, even the remains of other snow lions. And so the dead snow lion had drawn two more to scrap over the carcass; these ones, unlike the elderly beast he'd eviscerated for that purpose the previous evening, appeared by their behaviour to be in their prime. Dangerous enemies, despite their current inattention to outside threat; well worth killing. The darkly-clad figure tensed imperceptibly, poised to make his move…

A deep roar off to his left brought the hunter's advance to a halt before it had begun. The pride alpha had arrived at the scene of the trap. Hidden under his snow-encrusted pine, his lips stretched for a moment. Disregarding for the moment the massive alpha lion charging forward to engage the intruders into his territory, the hunter's attention scanned the area it had approached from.

Sure enough – the rest of the pride was fast approaching. Four lionesses, three cubs. The toughest enemy for kilometres around. The enemy he had ultimately been stalking for over a week now. The target he had successfully lured out.

In a fair fight, a pride of that size might have been able to fell him, if he was unlucky. But this time, the odds told against the pride. Surprise was virtually total; his first strike bisected a cub grouped in the centre of the pride's formation. The follow-through lashed through its mother's snout with an arc of gore, causing the blinded beast to strike out frantically in all directions. Its panicked, unaimed snow-breath only increased the confusion of the pride as he danced through the chaotic clearing.

Adamantine plate carved its way through trunk-thick spines, dismembered white-furred limbs; gouts of molten magic ripped into steaming entrails with each stroke.

The fight was over inside of fifteen seconds.

One last pull of the trigger served to dislodge the gunblade from the broad skull of its last victim, a mewling cub which had been hopefully nuzzling its mother's ruby-spattered corpse. The hunter perfunctorily whipped his blade to shake off the larger chunks of aftermath from his blade. His figure glowed dimly for a moment; released, the cleansing mantra sloughed away the several litres of blood and other internal liquids which had drenched his worn clothes, his grizzled face, his unruly mane and beard.

He did not linger. Hefting his sword, ignoring the growling mindborne susurrations which had (as always) returned with the end of the fight, he retraced his steps to his original place of concealment. His gaze bent once more upon the three snow lions he had left squabbling over their carrion.

By this point, it had advanced beyond mere squabbling. The pride alpha had likely attempted to return to the commotion which it had left behind, only to be dragged back by the combined efforts of the two interlopers; the proud alpha had not taken kindly to this, and now was in the process of attempting to tear apart his current foes. However, the massive lion remained distracted by the absence of his pack, and the other lions, allied for the moment, pushed their advantage for all it was worth.

The hunter briefly considered simply ending it; but when it came down to it, what was most important was that the monsters were dead. Why go to the extra effort? He would simply kill the survivors, and track down any that attempted escape.

Then his eyes darted again, this time to the right.

For a long, tense moment, the forest fell absolutely silent, still. The snow lions, each sporting a collection of long, seeping wounds, whirled in their tracks to stare incredulously at the short, slim figure which stood just ten metres away. Of all things, the figure was clad in a bright yellow dress, leaning on an intricately carved staff. She stared at the lions in turn.

The elderly woman raised her staff, her hands gripping each end. The audible _snick_ as she twisted its length seemed to echo through the frozen forest like an exploding tree-trunk.

He moved, discarding silence for speed.

Gravel and ice crunched under his pounding feet; his blade sheared through obstructionist branches. His abrupt passage brought the undivided attention of two lions upon his advance. As he angled slightly towards them, he noted absently that the woman had dropped into a combat stance, her 'staff' now divided into linked segments. She flicked one end squarely into the third snow lion's nose, following up with a ball of magical fire which hissed and spluttered in its maw; the lion gargled and pawed at its throat in pain, its snow-breath forgotten for the moment.

Satisfied that she could hold off the third lion, he veered right and slammed his boot onto a large fallen log. Using this as an impromptu platform, the hunter's bounding leap sent him somersaulting over the snow-breath of his targets. Landing to the side of one lion, his sword swung down like a woodsman's axe, chopping through its spinal cord just behind the withers. Wrenching the blade towards himself, he angled it downwards to stab deep into the ribcage. Pulling the trigger reduced its heart to a sodden pulp.

Ducking behind its corpse to shelter from the second lion's elemental breath, his gaze was drawn to the woman. Wreathed now in a golden aura, she cast another spell…

And both of the giant cats began to roll around, purring with unabashed pleasure. The hunter stared as gossamer wings sprouted from their backs, fluttering in graceful strokes as they rose in unison. Dragged high into the air, dangling under their glowing pinions, it struck him that they looked like nothing so much as kittens dangling from their mothers' mouths.

'_…Rapture…_'

He jerked, stunned. In all the time uncounted that his internal whispers had disturbed the hunter's rest, he had never understood what they had said… The hunter frowned. True enough, the snow lions did look to be happy. Well, up to the point where they dissipated into thin air, in any case…

The hunter shrugged. If it was important, he'd find out. If it wasn't – which was far more likely – he would just forget it. He eventually forgot most things which did not involve hunting in some fashion.

Straightening with a grunt, his eyes fell once more on the woman who had fought at his side. She was staring at his chest for some reason. It was probably something to do with his appearance and manner, he reflected. Other humans tended to put great store in things which he had long forgotten, if indeed he had ever known of them. He scrutinised her in turn.

She did not seem as physically decrepit as she had initially appeared. She stood straight under his gaze, betraying no sign of a stoop – it seemed she just happened to be a short woman. Her hair, curling outwards in a neat ring hovering just over her neckline, was greying but still predominantly a rich oaken colour. Her face was lined with the wrinkles of advancing age, but she was no crone. (Probably; he was not the best judge of such things.) Her fair limbs, much of which were bared to the open, remained well-toned, showing no obvious signs of the sagging skin which he associated with elderly humans. Her breasts weren't particularly large, but they seemed to sit high on her—

He stopped looking at her chest. Women were sensitive about that sort of thing. At least, that's what he seemed to recall.

All in all, she did not look particularly old; certainly in the latter stages of her life, but far from her deathbed. So why had he thought she was an elderly woman? Had it just been that 'staff'? or was there something else? Looking into her face once more, he noticed the dark swelling under her eyes, the spidering veins across their whites, the—

Her eyes. Wary, curious… shadowed with a pain which had no bearing on her physical health. An answering snarl reverberated through his mind. …_That was why I thought she was old._ He cleared his throat.

"I am sorry for intruding into your fight." His voice, unused for…a really long time now that he happened to think of it, croaked and rasped in his throat. Digging out a battered canteen, the hunter took a swig of icemelt and tried again. The woman held up a hand, her nunchaku dangling from the other.

"I heard you the first time. Hehe, sorry about that…" High-pitched, almost like a bird's call, the voice didn't sound particularly decrepit, either. Her voice increased another notch in cheeriness, her mouth widened in a sweet smile, and her acorn eyes brightened. If she was trying to convince him that she was fine, however, she was failing. "I just wanted to train a bit. I think THREE Snow Lions may have been a little too much for me… so like, thanks!" A healthy set of lungs too, he mused, wondering absently when she ever drew breath. "Ooh! I think there's some loot, do you want it?"

He shook his head. A hind haunch from the impaled lion which still twitched intermittently at his feet would serve for his dinner later on. He had no use for the rest. She thanked him effusively, stowing the spoils about her person. A brief time fiddling with her weapon put it back together in one long piece, which she promptly used as a staff to amble closer.

"Anyway, I'm Selphie…Kinneas…" She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed. And also drew a breath, thus demonstrating that she did need to do so occasionally. When her eyes opened, they were cheerful in such a determined, feverish way that the voice inside his mind growled louder. "I live at Trabia Garden." She gave him a big grin. "Actually, I'm the Headmistress!"

He shrugged. This place could be Trabia, he supposed. He rarely paid attention to that sort of thing. Presumably, if she lived in a garden, it was relatively close to where they were now. He made a mental note to avoid it, provided she needed no further assistance.

Strangely, his taciturn response had her staring at him again. "Heeey… You know, you look kinda familiar… Do I know you from somewhere…?" He shrugged again. How would he know?

"Do you need any more help, Selphie Kinneas?"

She eventually stopped staring. "Nah, I'll be fine… Unless! Have you seen any mine entrances around here?"

He shook his head. Mines were of no interest to him unless there were monsters in them.

Selphie Kinneas slumped for a moment before she could paste her big smile back on. "Then I'll be fine! Are YOU going to be alright out here? It looks like it's gonna snow again…" He didn't bother with a response. With the only truly dangerous enemies for several kilometres around safely dead, he had no intention of lingering in the area; he briefly performed an inventory check. "HEEEY! Are you listening?" The hunter sighed, realising this human was one of those who seemed to require responses to everything; he shrugged again. If she didn't need his help, then there was nothing to stop him from leaving.

Reaching down to the hilt of his sword, he slid it back out of the dead lion's chest. A powerful sweep – this time, without the added effect of a gunblast – sheared through the animal's thigh, severing the selected haunch. He would skin it later. As before, he shook the blade clean, and utilised the cleansing-spell; for good measure, he cast an _esuna_ on the haunch to sterilise it.

Picking up the furry paw, he looked over to the woman, ready to bid her farewell.

Selphie Kinneas's eyes bulged, wider and wider. There wasn't any grief in them now; there was nothing but shock in those green orbs, flitting between his gunblade and his face. Her own face was paper-white. Her voice was a trembling whisper.

"…Squall…?"

And she fainted dead away, eyes rolled back in her head, the icy gravel cracking and crunching in protest under her descending form.

—ox-oxo-xo—

The hunter looked down at the prone form of Selphie Kinneas.

He looked around. Sniffed the air. Studied the clouds. Listened for distant disturbances. Looked down at her again. Insofar as his face held any expression, it could best be described as 'mild puzzlement'.

"…What windstorm…?"


	2. The Pitfalls of Magic

**Chapter 2 – The Pitfalls of Magic**

_She's running a fever…_

The hunter straightened, slipping his glove back on over gnarled knuckles. He'd suspected as much. The swollen, shaded circles lurking under her bloodshot eyes spoke of long and sleepless hours prior to their encounter; only the comparative neatness of her appearance convinced him that she wasn't a wanderer such as himself. The way she'd just warned him of a imminent, non-existent storm and then fainted at his feet was another indication of ill health.

He cast an _esuna_. As he had also suspected, the spell proved ineffective.

Her malady was one born of exhaustion, and severe emotional stress. Spells could only cure so much, after all.

Frowning, the hunter considered his next course of action. (Dealing with other humans always seemed to require so much _thought_. It was one reason he tended to avoid them…) Ever practical, while pondering what to do next, he rummaged through the Selphie Kinneas woman's belongings (the braille-code system of item compression, built into her clothing, was another indication of her likely familiarity with traversing the wilds); finding a brightly coloured thermal blanket, he proceeded to wrap her in its folds.

It was plain to him that she was in dire need of rest, and would soon require expert medical attention if her condition was allowed to worsen. Given that she was unconscious, this posed a dilemma to the hunter: namely, that he would be ill-advised to wake her up and ask for directions back to her settlement. And as he had no real concept of where _he_ was – let alone the location of the nearest outpost of civilisation – he had no idea about where he could take her without the benefit of her directions. In addition, while the shivering woman had been incorrect about the incoming squall, the low-hanging clouds slowly approaching over the northwest horizon bespoke substantial falls of snow during the coming night, which was not that far off.

In short: she required shelter more substantial than a Tent could provide. And there was no such luxury to be had in this sparse forest, even should he be willing to waste his time dealing with the crafty, scavenging monsters which would be drawn to the carcasses of all those snow lions he'd butchered earlier.

His piercing gaze drifted speculatively south. A weathered mountain-range rose above the foliage in that direction, perhaps six kilometres distant. He dimly recalled a cave which might prove suitable for the purpose at hand. He would have to make haste, however, if he wished to get her to shelter before sundown.

Decision made, the hunter stepped over with knife in hand to the mutilated snow lion, sprawled on the ground at the edge of the clearing. Methodically stripping the carcass of its skin was the work of a couple of minutes; removing the lumps of fat and clotting blood was easily performed with a few scrapes and another cleansing mantra. It would no doubt come in handy later. Stowing away the thin fur in a compact roll, he decided against searching the bodies of the late lion's compatriots. He didn't have the time.

The petite woman was heavier than she looked. Draping her swaddled form over his shoulder, he paid no thought to this; he was done thinking for the moment. Gunblade held loosely in his right hand, the hunter stalked into the undergrowth once more.

_Maybe there'll be some dragons up there, too…_ His lips twisted upward a fraction.

—ox-oxo-xo—

_She ran through a twisted, barren tundra; lonely tufts of spindly grass blurred under her feet in her haste._

_Selphie was searching frantically, trying to follow the faint trace of her quarry. From moment to moment, the identity of the one she was chasing changed and jumbled. Irvine. Squall. Irvine. Ellone. Irvine. Squall. Irvine… Swearing with frustration at the vagaries of her unco-operative mind, she ran on and on, ignoring as best she could the air's constant attempts to entangle her frantically pumping legs; hoping to get a glimpse of the one she was trying to find._

_Between one step and the next, the landscape changed. Skidding to a halt, she stared out longingly across the snowy plain below her. Her fevered gaze caught a flash of movement below, disappearing into a mineshaft._

_She gauged the distance. It wasn't that tall a cliff. She could jump it._

_Selphie took a step back. Two. Froze, gaping up at the nightmarish vision suddenly facing her; its glowing golden orbs looking her in the eye, its massive wings blotting out the sun. An entity that even the passage of thirty years had failed to erase from her memories._

_The Tonberry, watching from behind her eyes, moaned with fear…and awe._

—ox-oxo-xo—

Her eyes flying open, Selphie heaved herself upright. Panting, her heartbeat thundering in her ears, her eyes darted around her dimly lit surroundings. They were drawn like lodestones onto the only source of light.

She took a trembling breath, scrubbing sweat and tears with her hands. _It's a campfire…just a campfire… I'm not in hell…_ The light of the dying fire's glowing coals flickered fitfully, reflecting weakly off rough granite walls. _I'm in a cave…_

Once she knew what she was looking at, she noticed a dim shape at the far end of the cavern, limned with a dim, pale light; that outline shook as if blown by a gust of wind – which it probably was. A glance upward revealed a complex, natural network of thin cracks near the highest point of the hollow; that was where the campfire's smoke was escaping.

"Whew…" She appeared to be safe for the moment. _How_ she came to be here…was more than a little hazy.

It had all started with that stupid, stupid contest.

Trabia Garden might not boast the martial mindset of the other Gardens, but the sheer inhospitality of their homeland made for a grand tradition in the art of hunting. Indeed, most of Trabia's SeeD contracts called for the patrol of remote villages and hamlets – not to protect against bandits (not that there weren't bandits), but to headhunt dangerous wildlife. When she returned home not long after the defeat of Ultimecia, the newly minted SeeD Irvine Kinneas had joined her. And if anything, he enjoyed the hunt even more than most of the Garden's natives.

And so, when word reached Garden two weeks past of a nest of ruby dragons which had emptied the new town at the mouth of Trabia Canyon, Irvine had interceded with Selphie to make a great contest of the affair. The rules were simple: ten teams of three, each scouring the mountains of Trabia, for one week. And the team which collected the most (fresh!) dragon skulls at the end of that week would split 100,000 gil. And this added up to a lot of takers, making the competition a certain hit…provided nothing went wrong.

Selphie had not participated; she instead led the teams which had dealt with the actual ruby dragon nest which had prompted the whole thing. Irvine had organised the contest, and led a team to boot.

And one week later, nine teams had returned. The winning team was Instructor Narko's team, with a whopping 24 skulls (none of them belonging to ruby dragons, but still a herculean effort); seven of the teams had killed at least three dragons, thereby earning a SeeD Rank increase (or a 5,000 gil prize for the civilians and candidates). One team had returned after only a few days, claiming that they could find no dragons in that area; they were soundly laughed at.

And Instructor Irvine's team had disappeared.

Four days into the 'operation', in a casual call to his wife and headmistress, he'd complained that there were no high-level monsters _at all_ in their area, let alone dragons. At least, no _living_ ones. Someone or something had scoured the area over past weeks, tearing apart anything remotely worth hunting. The next day, he'd called again, claiming to have found the entrance to an abandoned mine. He'd led the team in.

When the search party went searching for them, they indeed found the mineshaft. They also found the fresh cave-in, barely two hundred metres in. But his colleagues – and his wife – did not give up hope. President Seagill had been kind enough to authorise the use of a deepground surveying pinnace, and the results indicated tunnels honeycombing the mountains for nearly thirty kilometres around that shaft – though its tracks remained dismally vague, useless for actual reconnaisance. Thus giving the searchers a massive area to search.

They were alright. They had to be. _He_ had to be.

Another missing man's wife might have worried that he was dead, crushed under tonnes of rock in the initial cave-in. Not Selphie. If nothing else, Ellone had assured her that he was alive. She'd even been linked with him for an hour or two…yesterday? The day before? Whenever it was. But there were monsters down there, plenty of them, and powerful ones to boot. And his team hadn't found an exit.

And so she'd gone looking for an opening. By herself, completely alone, throwing away her responsiblities, even refusing to answer com calls unless they were about Irvine and his team. For five days. And found _nothing_ – no trace, no tunnels. No sign of Irvine.

She burned to continue the search. She… Trying to get up, she broke out in a sweat. She was sick, exhausted; she needed the rest, or she'd be useless.

Repeating the mantra several times actually helped a bit. Selphie tried again to recall how she got _here_. _Let's see…_ There was that pride of snow lions—

_…Nah…can't have been… I must've dreamed that bit…_ Squall was dead. Ellone _said_ he was dead, _she_ saw him fall… He had to be. He had to be…

Her mind busy at work trying to refute the admittedly shaky evidence of its own recollections, her gaze roamed aimlessly over her makeshift shelter. She absently noted the smell of roasting meat, overlaying the more subtle musk of molted dragonskin, her senses proceeding to catalogue any relevant information for when she would require it. Her eyes lingered on the spitting haunch propped up over the coals, mouth watering, before drifting onwards in their scrutiny.

They lit on a darker shape in the darkness. Her heart leapt into her mouth, which promptly dropped open.

It didn't move, didn't give any indication that it was real instead of some imagined or innocuous shadow. Slowly, carefully, she extricated herself from the blanket in which she'd been tangled. Stood. Crept over towards the dimly perceived shape. Knelt before it.

It still didn't move.

Facing away from the fire now, her sight deepened to suit the darkness; the figure slowly came into focus. It _was_ a man, sitting, head tucked down into his chest. Looking down to his right, a thin, jagged ribbon of light betrayed the blade which – she looked closer – was still loosely held in his hand. And from this close, he was moving, in the barely perceptible movements of light breathing. He seemed to be asleep.

_It _can't_ be him…_

It kinda looked like him, certainly. But Squall would never look so…wait! The man, she remembered, sported a massive head of hair, almost down to his hips. And a beard, or at least the patchy, straggly growth born of genetics which did not lend themselves to facial hair. No wonder she couldn't see his face!

With infinite care, trying her utmost to stop her hands from shaking, Selphie felt out in front of where she guessed his forehead would be. Her questing fingers encountered thick bangs of hanging hair, a bunched-up curtain under her touch.

It slid through her hands as the man's head rose. One gold eye opened, stared at her. She scrabbled backwards with a most undignified squeak.

The eye shifted away from her, over to the fire. _Trick of the light, trick of the light, trick of the light…_ It was a dark, stormy blue eye. Pupil round, not narrowed to twin points. A human eye, not a lion's. The fire began to burn a little brighter.

With the silence of sure movement, he stood, walking over to the firepit. A thin stake had been driven through the haunch; the hunter picked up the stick and sat back down.

The eye swivelled around to her again for a moment, considering. It went back to the fire, which suddenly burst into life. She squinted reflexively, eyes watering in the unexpected light. When her sight recovered, the first thing she saw was the thick, dripping haunch of meat before her eyes.

She needed no further invitation. It was several minutes before she had an opportunity to speak without losing a mouthful of roasted, mildly smoked snow lion. Her eyes never left the shape of her chance companion, gnawing away on the lower, thinner half of the shank. She stared at him unabashedly, devouring his every visible feature.

His jacket was a faded black, and had a grey fur collar. His trousers were also black, faded and worn at the knees. His boots were black, and in atrocious condition. _Jacket, pants, shoes – check!_ (He wasn't wearing a t-shirt, though - and his favourite ring seemed to be missing too.) His sword, propped up against the wall to his right, bore the shape and lines of the Lionheart, the most famous weapon in existence. _Gunblade – check!_ (Though the Lionheart had never been a mottled rust colour. Given that adamantine plate never rusted, it must be from all the blood that it had shed over the decades…which in itself gave some indication of what the man did for a living.)

There the similarities ended. His hair was an unruly mop, still hiding much of his face; in the firelight, strands of chestnut glowed amidst the brunet and grey. It made the man look a bit like a lion. She supposed Squall could look like that, if (she chuckled, almost choking on her meat) he could bear to let his hair get so scruffy. The beard really was a disappointment, patchy and uneven. More interesting was the variety of scars, thin and thick, clean and jagged, which peeked out from under it. And the collar, and the chest – in particular, the deep trio of furrows carved over his upper torso which had reminded her so much of _him_ in the first place. They bespoke a hard, hard life.

Only the eye told her that it wasn't Squall. It was the right colour, and there was intelligence lurking deep within its cold depths. But there was no recognition there.

Squall Leonhart would have known her. He _would have_.

Unless… The fire. It had been stoked with the aid of magic. Sure, many could learn to utilise para-magic without the mixed benefits of a GF junction, but still—

"…Squall…"

His gaze flickered back up to hers. "No, just snow."

Her mind reeled. _Could he really be THAT far gone…?_

Casting the scant remains of her meal into a corner, she crawled over to kneel before him once more. The hunter lowered his bone, looking at her curiously. Slowly, slowly, her hands raised to his face. Brushed aside the obscuring locks of hair.

And there it was. The slashing, diagonal scar which Squall had received at the hands of his old rival. Faded, crisscrossed with the furrows of smaller scars and wrinkle lines, but there. She swayed, overcome with the emotion of the moment.

It was him.

—ox-oxo-xo—

The hunter stared down at Selphie Kinneas. She'd fainted again. Fortunately, she'd also let go of his hair in the process of doing so.

Discarding the bones, he bent down and picked her up, depositing her in her bedding once more. He straightened.

"…Found you…" she murmured.

He blinked, looking down at her. She was smiling, for some reason.

Shrugging, he turned and retrieved his gunblade. Their current shelter was the lair of a blue dragon, and it was due to return from its hunt shortly. Perhaps it was fortunate that she was out of it.

* * *

A/N: There is a reason why I'm putting in all this stuff on the mechanics of magic, and also why Squall seems to be working on different principles. Just bear with me.


	3. Look for the Positives

**Chapter 3 – Look for the Positives**

The hunter's spot had been well-chosen. His quarry would never know what hit it.

He had taken the precaution, when erecting the snow-lion hide across the lair's entrance, to place it several metres up inside the passage. The blue dragon had lived here for long enough to leave tracks that a blind man could have tripped over; on its habitual approach, the monster would not be in line-of-sight to peer far enough down the passage to detect the hanging fur.

It was possible that it would somehow detect the smell of smoke; certain members of the poison-breathing wyrm family could develop exquisite acuities in sensing the flows of air (if not the smell). But his place of ambush was sufficient to cover that possibility.

The distant flap of a set of leathery wings set a tight-lipped smile to his visage.

—ox-oxo-xo—

His trigger finger was threatening to cramp up. It was just one more item to add to Irvine Kinneas's litany of complaints. (Private complaints – he was the only SeeD of his team. But still…)

_They were almost out of potions._ They'd been 'almost out' for a while. Thankfully, the young sorceress was beginning to get the hang of casting healing magics, and they'd occasionally pick up healing items from the spoils. Which was a mixed blessing… _A sorceress was constantly hitting on him._ He could've done with it thirty years ago (when he was single), or even twenty years ago (before he and Selphie decided to stop mucking about and tie the knot); at this time of his life, he'd rather not. After all, he was happily married, thank you very much – and she was less than half his age, not even out of her teens, for all her porcelain beauty. What the hell was she thinking? Was she just after a challenge?

But there wasn't anything to do about that for the moment. After all… _They were trapped inside a mine, choc'o'block full of badass monsters._ Yep, that would have to be the biggest one of his complaints, followed closely by… _He'd had about six hours of sleep in the past WEEK._ It was hard to get a good night's sleep when a monster seemed to show up whenever he closed his eyes. Running about and fighting to survive on catnaps was unpleasant enough when he was in his teens. Doing it now was _torture_.

It could be worse, of course. After all, at least all of them were alive – that cave-in had been a close call. And at least he'd had the foresight to bring Ifrit and Leviathan along for the hunt. Leviathan's ability to refine GF recovery items at least kept _them_ in shape; it also helped, being able to refine support magic from the loot so that he could give the SeeD candidate a chance to pull his weight. And even the exhaustion had a 'positive' aspect: he had spent a fair amount of time simply searching for the _moment_. The one when he could pour himself into his rifle, meld with it. Make it do things it was never meant to… And Ifrit helped out there, too – at least he could refine more ammo.

Which led, of course, right back to his most recent complaint. When it came down to dealing out serious hurt to the endless parade of enemies, Fast Ammo was best for the job. Pulse Ammo might be flashy, but there was just _something_ about drilling dozens of holes into your enemy in the space of a handful of seconds…

If he lived through this, though, he decided he'd swear off the stuff…for a while. Hyne, his finger _hurt_.

"Zamal, you doing all right there?"

"…Yeah…just a little sleepy still…" The young lad straightened, stretched. "It's weird. Instructor, do you know why sleep spells never seem to make you feel better like real sleep does?"

"Wait, wait, I know this…" Zena glanced sideways at the instructor, ready to show off. "It's because a 'sleep' spell isn't actually sleeping. It just freezes you up, puts your mind in a limbo that _looks_ like sleep to the outside observer." She smirked at Irvine, striking a pose that she probably thought would turn him on. "Isn't that right, Instructor?"

"I dunno," he shrugged.

"Wha…?" Confronted by puzzled exclamations in stereo, Irvine tried not to laugh. The two of them were like peas in a pod, for all the twins might argue the fact.

"I teach marksmanship. NOT magic." He let out a tired chuckle, his teeth glinting in the flickering light of the fire spell which had served as their only source of light since the cave-in trapped them in the mine's depths. "Really, you'd think the SeeD candidate and the girl who's been tryi—"

"…Trying? Trying to what? What are you talking ab—" Seeing his raised hand – and the concentration writ large on his features – they shut up. For a moment.

"Um…Instructor?" the young sorceress asked. "Do you hear something…?"

Irvine began to laugh. Quietly, of course; he didn't want to alert any monsters nearby. "Sefie, I _so_ love you…" And a veritable cornucopia of items began to appear on the ground – seemingly out of thin air – right at his feet.

"Oh wow…" Zamal ran forward, to rummage gleefully through the rapidly increasing selection. "Mega-Potions, X-Potions, Mega-Phoenixes… There's dozens of them!"

"What the…?" Zena stared, fascinated and a little spooked, at the shimmering vortex of energy which had opened up under that patch of rock. If she squinted, she could _just_ see each ethereal thread as it took its appointed, solid form. _What if…_ She…_pulled_ at one of the threads just as it appeared, and the item solidified. It was an Elixir, floating in the air before her eyes. Stunned, Zena managed to catch the suddenly plummeting vial before its precious contents went to waste.

She looked up, to see Zamal staring at her, grinning. The unexpected bounty – and her own wonder – prompted her to grin back.

"Babe, you're a lifesaver! I'll see you soon… Oh! And tell Ellone hi for me." Irvine shivered; it always felt a little weird when 'the faeries' left. The teens looked up at the instructor, each trying to find the words. He looked down at them, a smirk on his lips. "…Sorry kids, that one's classified. Let's just say, I got a little visit from a certain GF I don't usually see much of…"

He indulged himself in a languorous stretch. "Now, d'you reckon the two of you could hold the fort down for a few hours, with them there lovely gifts to help out? I'm plain bushed…" And he laid down, right then and there.

His consciousness dwindling into blessed, _real_ sleep at last, Irvine Kinneas did find time to add one more complaint to the list. _He'd have to start saving for that new car again_…

—ox-oxo-xo—

_"Awwwww…"_

_A sense of throat-clearing._

_"So… Irvy says hi."_

_"I heard." Ellone's 'voice' shimmered with dry amusement for a moment. "I'm glad I was able to help the two of you out. I'm just sorry I couldn't get back to you earlier." A sigh. "Now, the _both_ of us should really be getting some actual sleep tonight, so…"_

_"Ok, I'll…WAIT!"_

_"Hm?"_

_"I found Squall!"_

_"…WHAT?"_

_If a disembodied voice could jump up and down for excitement, Selphie's voice would surely be doing it. "There were some snow lions and he came and helped me out and carried me to this cave and he doesn't remember me or even _him_ but he's alive and I found him and he's _alive_ Ellone, he's ALIVE!"_

_The mental equivalent of a blink, as Ellone sorted through the jumbled rush of words._

_"…We're coming." And the link snapped without further warning._

—ox-oxo-xo—

Selphie knew perfectly well that, as Ellone had reminded her, she _really_ should get some proper sleep. And her knowledge of Irvine's safety – for the moment – really did help.

Of course, that left her with another problem. A new one.

How could she convince Squall to come with her?

Her mind ticking away, wrestling with strategies, her body eventually went ahead and switched off anyway.

—ox-oxo-xo—

His blade hewed through the base of the tail, leaving the appendage hanging like a snapped twig, attached only by a tendon and some scales. The knife sufficed for that last cut.

The blue dragon had fed well. Now so would he.

Heaving the dribbling length of meat aside for the moment, he regarded the still-gurgling mound of dead dragon, already collecting a frosting of snowflakes. If Selphie Tilmitt's penchant for prattling about weather and fainting was to continue, it was likely he would have to remain to guard her while she recovered. As such, he should leave no trace of its corpse.

A prolonged _blizzaga_, directed along its length like a breath-attack, froze the creature solid. A hefty swing of the gunblade shattered it into several pieces. He got on with the drudgery of rolling them down the path. His mind was a long way away, searching all he knew of the area – but not in terms of landmarks or townships. He thought of new hunting grounds, and where best they might be found and traversed; his inner demon growled and crooned to his musings.

The largest pieces disposed of, and the smaller scraps covered with a thin layer of snow, he went back to the tail. More snow went over the pool of blood at its stump; a fire spell served to cauterise the stump itself. With the substantial meat his spoils represented, he could travel for several days without needing to restock.

Well, probably. Selphie Tilmitt could complicate things…

He stopped. Tilmitt? No, she'd said Kinneas.

'_…Tilmitt…_'

"Weird…"

The hunter shrugged. He never had understood its words. Why should he be surprised if it spouted nonsense when he _did_ understand it? Returning to thoughts of killing, he paid the voice no further mind.

* * *

A/N: Suppose I should mention...

I already have over half of this story written (it should go out to 12- or 13 chapters). But I'm leaking it out in dribs and drabs (large ones) so's to allow useful reviews to shape the thing. If you have anything to contribute, then by all means hit that link down there...


	4. Persuasion and Perseverance

**Chapter 4 - Persuasion and Perseverance**

Again, Selphie Kinneas awoke. This time, her senses knew immediately what to search for.

First… _check_. Squall was on his back this time, dozing on the other side of the campfire. The Lionheart was _still_ in his hand, she was amused to note. Next… _check_. The hide was still in place, but the light which peeked through had acquired a washed-out grey quality which bespoke the recent dawn. The smell of roasted meat still lingered in the air, but she didn't see… _check_. Over on Squall's side, she could _just_ see a long scaly length of something that looked like a dragon's tail. (And on that subject… _check_. She still had everything; it seemed that even without his memory, Squall wasn't the type to steal other people's things.)

Oh, and… _check_. Her temperature was back down; the semi-enforced rest break had done its work. Indeed, she felt like she could run a marathon…or go traipsing all over the countryside for yet another day. That thought only dimmed her spirits, as opposed to crushing them as they had come so close to doing yesterday.

The firepit had been well-banked, and it was the work of a few moments to kindle it back to life. Her movements roused Squall, who raised his head to look at her. "You seem better."

"Yup. I feel great!" And unlike yesterday, it wasn't a lie. Well, not as much as it had been. "Tee-hee, thanks Squall!"

This time, when he glanced at the entrance and back at her, she wasn't surprised. This time, she was ready. "This time, I'm not fainting. And that's your _name_, Squall."

He blinked. She pointed at him for emphasis.

"Squall Leonhart! Son of Raine Leonhart and Sir Laguna! The Legendary Knight who defeated Ultimecia and saved the world from Time Compression!"

He blinked again. Sat up, rose to his feet. Walked around the fire, knelt in front of her. She impatiently slapped his hand away when he attempted to check her temperature. "You're the right age, the right build, you carry the Lionheart gunblade and you're _really_ good with it, and you've got that scar on your forehead." She drew its pattern across the mess of hair which obscured it. "You're Squall!"

Squall stared at her for several moments. Then he shrugged and turned away.

_Not even a 'whatever'?_ She gaped. _Whups…_

The making of breakfast went on in silence. The old- the _young_ Squall, she would have just teased without mercy. _This_ Squall, she suspected, wouldn't even notice. Her offering of some greens to go with the dragon-steak was accepted with a short nod, which was the closest thing he gave to a response for a good while.

It wasn't until the food was in front of them that Selphie scraped up the courage to try again. "So, like… what do you do?"

"I hunt."

"Ooh, a hunter! Trabia Garden loves hunting!" Yes, it was blindingly obvious, but she needed to get him talking. "So, what do you like to hunt?"

"Monsters."

"So, what kind of monsters do you hunt?"

"Dangerous ones."

"Why?"

He paused for a moment, then shrugged. _Bummer…_

She tried again. "So, like… do you hunt people?"

This one actually merited some thought. "…If they're monsters."

"Do you mean if they're undead? Or are you talking about bandits?"

He shrugged again. This time she took it as a move forward; he _was_ telling her about himself – just with even fewer words than the young Squall had used.

"How far back do you remember?"

Another shrug; this one, she could tell, translated to 'whatever'. Which in turn translated to 'don't know, don't care'.

"What GFs are you junctioned to?"

He gave her a look. This one was…well, mostly it was 'shut up'. But she blanched when she glimpsed the tiny spark of curiosity lurking in his eyes. _That_ one, she suspected, meant 'what's a GF?'… Oh sweet Hyne, he really _was_ that far gone.

Squall picked up his belongings. Selphie realised with a start that he was intending to part. Without so much as a goodbye! _Well alright, let's try the direct route…_ There was _no way_ she was going to just let him disappear again.

"I…need your help. And not just to get back to Garden."

He stopped, looked at her. He sat back down. She surreptitiously breathed out, thankful that it had worked. _Yesterday_, she'd obviously needed his help; today, he could just as easily assumed she was fine. Although, the look in his eyes mutely told her that this had _better_ be good.

Well, it _was_.

"Do you remember yesterday? When I asked you if you'd seen any mine entrances?"

He nodded.

"Weeell…" Selphie suddenly winced. She needed to stop talking like they were in their teens! It had been bad enough yesterday, when it could be written off from the illness and exhaustion (and the shock, from seeing that scar on his chest); today, she needed to sound like she had a functioning brain… She snuck a look at his face; strangely, he seemed to understand. _…How weird is that?…_ Or maybe she was just imagining things…but she preferred the first option anyway, so she decided to make it _so_. Taking heart from this, she started again.

"Well, my husband is trapped down a mine, with some friends. And LOTS of monsters." His gaze sharpened, upon her use of the magic m-word. "They've been trapped for a week. Now, they're still alive – but they're lost, they can't find a way out."

"Monsters…in a mine?"

"Oh! You probably wouldn't know this, huh?" As she had thought. "_This_ mine is a really old one. It was abandoned back during the First Sorceress War, when Trabia was invaded by… You don't care about that though, do you?"

From the look on his face, it was obvious that he didn't. She took a moment to mentally thank Hyne that she'd taken the time to learn how to read Fujin's and Ward's facial expressions over the years. Without the practice, she'd have soon been in trouble here.

"Anyway… there's apparently all these powerful monsters down there. And, the mine seems to have tunnels running underground for a long, long way from where they went in. So…"

A frown creases his scarred brow, his hand slowly raised to cover it. Selphie tried not to giggle like a giddy schoolgirl at the achingly familiar sight. And she did manage it. But it was _that_ close…

"Why did they enter? And where?"

"Well…it's a long story, but let's just say they were hunting dragons, and they couldn't find any. So they went looking in the mine. And…where are we, exactly?"

"A few kilometres south of where I found you."

"…You carried me all that way?" She found herself blushing; he was either kind enough not to notice, or simply didn't. "Um…then about twenty kilometres east of here, in the foothills…" He suddenly emitted a harsh chuckle. "Why are you laughing?"

"…No dragons. I left there a few weeks ago." Squall's mirth subsided. "Hmm…" He fell silent, for several minutes. His hands, running independently of his mind, began to use a magic stone to whet the Lionheart's edge. Selphie began to bounce with barely contained impatience.

Eventually he looked up. "The entrance…blocked? Have you seen it?"

"Of course! And…yeah, it's blocked. It caved in."

"And…it opened to the southeast?"

She shot up. "No! It faced the west! You mean there IS another entrance?"

"Hmph… No wonder all the monsters disappeared…" He stood up again, putting the stone away. "There'll be hard climbing. Can you handle it?"

Beaming happily, she shrugged. "I'll just have to, won't I?" Then a thought occurred. "Or…" She considered, "Do you think we can fly there?"

She was ready to explain the whole 'flying' thing, but he just shrugged it off. "Part of the way, maybe. But the terrain's uneven. And I'll need to be on the ground to find it."

Selphie clapped her hands. "Ok, that still works! I'll just need to make a com call…"

—ox-oxo-xo—

Other people, under other circumstances, might have complained about their current post – that is, flying in circles for days on end over a drab lot of mountains. Partly, of course, the dearth of grumbling owed to the undeniably important reason of their mission. Mostly, it came down to the people performing it.

Firstly: all three of them were SeeDs, or at least had been SeeDs. And SeeDs didn't complain. They just _didn't_. Their comrades would never let them live it down.

Secondly: on the whole, they were enjoying themselves immensely.

Raijin reluctantly turned away from the window, and its spectacular panorama, to examine the console. _Hyne, I love this…_ This was his first time in the recently completed _Ragnorak_-class pinnace, and it was _brilliant!_ If this went on any longer, Nida might even let him have a go at flying it. Of course, Fujin was more likely to get a turn first. She'd fallen in love with the weapons console in minutes. She sat there by the hour, occasionally firing off deadly accurate bursts to blow apart monsters nearly a kilometre below them. She'd even _giggle_ when she did it! Raijin hadn't heard her giggle since they were kids! Though Nida had just smiled fondly, and steered the pinnace in the direction of another hexadragon.

There was a flashing green light on the console, and a switch under it; when the Estharians had turned it over to its new trio of owners last month, they'd had been kind enough to translate each label, and _this_ one was the com. He flicked the switch. "Hello? …Ya know?"

"_Raijin, is that you?_"

"How'd ya know?" He turned to his left, to the pilot. "Hey guys, it's Selphie!"

Nida beamed. "Hello Headmistress Kinneas, it's _great_ to hear from you. We were all getting worried."

"_Awww, thanks guys. Listen up, we've had some good luck. Can you trace the call to find my location?_"

"AFFIRMATIVE." Fujin typed in a command, her demeanour accurately portraying the haste of a woman who wished to get back to riding her beloved weapons as quickly as possible. "DONE."

"_Swing over and pick me up. When I'm on board, we're gonna be following Squall._"

Nida was the first to retrieve his voice – and his lower jaw. "Uhh… what was that?"

"_Look, I'll explain later… Just get here!_" And the circuit cut out.

The two men stared at each other. Fujin put a stream of tracer rounds through the top of a roaming dragon's head at a range of 1,384 metres. This time, the former White SeeD didn't giggle.

"Ya know…"

"Yes, I know, she's insane. But she's called us in, so…" The acceleration slammed them back in their seats. Over the whine of the jet engines, Raijin heard him mutter, "Besides, she always _was_ insane…"

-ox-oxo-xo-

Selphie looked at Squall. "See? It's easy! Every so often, just hold that button down for ten seconds. That way, we can track you from the air, AND you don't have to stay in the open if you don't want to."

The hunter nodded absently, still scrutinising the landscape. The prospect of a good hunt in the offing improved his memory vastly, and he knew where he needed to go; the trick was to get there as quickly as possible.

At length he was satisfied. Taking the time to parcel and store the dragon-tail gave him something to do until Selphie Tilmitt let him get the hell away from her.

Wait… _again?_ That was really beginning to piss him off.

"Selphie Kinneas."

"Huh? You're actually _talking_ to me?" The silly woman grinned at him. "And will you knock it off with the 'Kinneas' crap already? Just call me Selphie!"

He hesitated. He just _knew_ he would regret this. "…Does 'Tilmitt' mean anything to you?"

For some reason, her eyes fogged up; the smile that accompanied this, however, was most certainly genuine. "Tilmitt was my maiden name. Back when we were friends, that was my last name." She ran up and gave him a quick hug, catching him off-guard and pulling away before he could react. "See, Squall? I betcha you'll remember all kinds of stuff, with me to help you out!"

And that interminable mental voice suddenly acquired a smug air.

In fact, he was regretting it already.

* * *

A/N: 'Ragnorak' is spelled as I intended it. Think of it as an non-spaceworthy version of the _Ragnarok_, without the funky claw thingies.


	5. Death is the End of Memory

**Chapter 5 – Death Is The End Of Memory**

"I'm not sure… I guess it _kinda_ looks like him, ya know?" Raijin ran a hand through greying brunet curls. "If he put a mop on his head, ya know!" He smirked at his own joke.

Nida squinted through his wire-rimmed spectacles, staring hard at a viewscreen shot of the rapidly moving hunter. "That _is_ a Lionheart model. And I have to admit, it's hard to think of any other guy pushing his fifties who could run like _that_…" Already he'd disappeared into the forest, blade first. He himself would've been hard-pressed to match that pace back when he first joined SeeD – and that was thirty years ago, Hynedammit!

"Trust me, it's Squall!" Selphie didn't bother turning to look at the others, concentrating on steering the pinnace and keeping track of the hunter below. "The blade, the scar, and he even remembered my maiden name! It's GOT to be him."

"I'm not sure…" The informal head of the Posse was hard-put to argue against her logic, but he had perfected the role of 'devil's advocate' over the years working with Seifer at White SeeD HQ, and he was damned if he was going to stop now just because Seifer was still there and the others had moved on to more…lucrative pastures. Besides, Fujin was looking distinctly uneasy. "I mean, how could he have remembered _that_, and still forget his own name?"

Selphie scraped a fingernail down her cheek thoughtfully. "Well, I think it was the GFs. That, and I was trying to act like I did back then…you know, try to jog his memory? Maybe it was the different name that did it…?" She shrugged. "But we can work that out later. Important thing is, we found him – AND he remembers enough to get us into the mine."

Nida kept plugging away, darting worried glances at Fujin. "And how does he remember that?"

"Silly Nida." She pegged a small tonberry figurine at him, somehow managing to make it bounce off his forehead despite throwing it over her shoulder without looking. "It's a textbook case of GF memory-loss. _Mid-term_ memory isn't that badly affected! And he saw the entrance just a few weeks ago." She glanced over her shoulder momentarily. "Oh, and could you please junction my GF for a little while? I've been carrying Tonberry in my head for the past week, I need the space…"

Placing the figurine against his forehead, he winced as its tiny knife swivelled minutely to jab a pinprick; the GF settled. "And how often do you _forget_ your GF?"

Selphie shrugged again. "_I_ did once. _That_ one, back when I was 13."

_That was it!_ Snapping his fingers, he pounced on the hole in the Trabian Headmaster's logic. "Tonberry? You mean the one you had to track down and find all over again? Tell me, did your memory keep getting _worse_ after you lost the GF?" She offered no answer; ignoring the sudden drop in cockpit temperature, he ploughed on. "I'd be willing to bet that it didn't _recover_ much – but it stopped getting worse. So why has his memory loss been so total?"

"…Nida?"

He swallowed. "…Yes, Headmistress Kinneas?"

"You're a lucky man, Nida."

"Um… Am I?"

"_Yes_, Nida. If you were still a SeeD, you would've just been demoted." Nida wondered if she was serious; sometimes it was damned difficult to tell.

"PANDEMONA…"

Nida whirled round to look at Fujin. She was pale – well, paler anyway. Her hand was clenched in a fist over her heart, a sure sign of serious perturbation. He leaned over to rest a comforting hand on her shoulder. "What is it, love?"

His wife of twenty-eight years gave him a look she had _never_ given him in public: outright fear. Her growled response actually trembled. "TERRIFIED…"

Fujin's closeness to the GF Pandemona was legendary among SeeD circles; many claimed she had grown closer to the nightmarish wind-elemental than any human should ever dare. He had been lucky enough to see her face, after she finally passed the SeeD test at her last opportunity, when Squall had returned it to her. He was honestly uncertain about whether those claims were true, and had gone to a great effort over the years never to _find_ out for certain.

What he did know was that Fujin and Pandemona had reached a level of mutual understanding which dwarfed almost any known relation between human and GF. What he also knew, after using GFs over the years, was that GFs _did not_ scare easily.

"NOT SQUALL. PERHAPS WAS. _IS_ NOT. IS…SOMETHING ELSE." She was actually shaking under his grip. Communicating in the wordless marital shorthand of long and fruitful years together, his gaze flickered for a moment over to the weapons console, and back. She smiled fractionally and squeezed his hand, before turning around to ride the weapons.

"It _is_ Squall. It _is_ Squall. It _is_ Squall…" Selphie was muttering, tears uncharacteristically streaking down her cheeks. She suddenly screamed, "IT _IS_ SQUALL!"

Fujin rode her weapons, eyes intent and utterly absorbed, giving no indication of wishing to argue the issue. Nida himself developed an interest in Fujin's plot. Even Raijin seemed to remember the taste of his own foot, and decide he didn't want any this time.

The silence stretched on and on, crying out for the words that must be said.

"We'll find them."

Selphie nodded hard, wiping her face. Her face blanked in the expression which proclaimed that this time, she really _was_ paying attention to her piloting. Unseen, Nida gazed at the back of her head.

Unlike the twins, he had been there on the night that Squall died.

Well, the night that he _left_, if you wanted to be technical about it.

—ox-oxo-xo—

_It was a year, almost to the day, since Rinoa had died. A year since Squall had kissed her one last time and allowed her to sacrifice herself for the good of the planet. Granted, _it worked_. If anything, it was a master-stroke which would rival the whole 'Time Compression' operation in its sheer efficacy. It would likely put Ultimecia's cause back _centuries_._

_But that didn't change the fundamental truth – that Squall Leonhart, the sorceress' knight paragon, had actively aided the love of his life in her own self-destruction. The whole _world_, it seemed, had waited for him to either follow her into death or retreat once more into the cold shell in which he'd dwelt before he'd met Rinoa. Instead, Squall surprised everyone. He retreated into mourning, for about a week. And when he returned, he seemed the same Squall that he'd been before her death. The kind and caring headmaster, the analytical commander, the stalwart and understanding friend._

_(It wasn't until a few years later, when Fujin told him that she was barren, that Nida truly began to comprehend the sheer courage required of Squall to undertake the masquerade. And after seeing Fujin's fragile yet infinitely grateful smile, when he reacted to the news with heartfelt commiseration instead of heartbreak over the children he would never father, Nida had once again blessed his memory.)_

_And masquerade it was. _Everyone_ knew it. But Squall held on held on somehow _held on_ – for an entire year, giving the Garden time to arrange and adjust to a new world, and an orderly change of leadership._

_But it was always going to end. And that night, the night after the bittersweet function which had marked his resignation, was the night that Squall made his goodbyes._

_After two decades of intermittent GF use, Nida no longer recalled every aspect of the gathering. He did remember that it was a most select group – Squall's closest friends and family. Zell, Quistis, Irvine and Selphie. Ellone, Cid and Edea, as well as Kiros. And Nida. He could have wept with gratitude when he realised what an honour had been accorded to him. He nearly _did_ weep with gratitude when Squall gave him one last gift (his very own rare Triple Triad card – only a Level 6 card, but the thought was still deeply appreciated). And his last words were still emblazoned on Nida's soul:_

_"Death is the end of memory."_

After Squall had walked out of the Garden, and their lives, Quistis had explained in a quiet, terrible voice what he had meant. He meant to let his Guardian Forces take his memory. _All of it._

Nida knew enough of the GFs to understand both the seduction and the grey, cold logic behind Squall's choice of 'death'. And, although he would never say it in front of Fujin, he actually believed Selphie. If he had succeeded, Squall would likely have turned out something like the hunter they were now tailing.

But he also remembered enough about that final meeting to guess that Selphie was likely burning to save him for more reasons than the other Posse members knew about.

The cockpit's silence was broken by Fujin's guns. She pressed the firing stud once, twice, thrice… and scowled. He looked over her shoulder…

—ox-oxo-xo—

Squall (he had decided that it wasn't a particularly _bad_ name, and that therefore he might as well use it) ripped apart a 'phoenix' pinion with one hand and his teeth, still at a loping run. Spitting feathers, he put on a burst of speed to strafe the pride of snow lions which were unlucky enough to be in his path. It was unsporting, but he was in a hurry.

In theory, the pride should have chewed him up and spat him out a mangled mess. Two lions, six lionesses; bad odds, even if one didn't include the two cubs and their incentive for the mothers to be especially vicious. And, unlike the last time he wiped out a pride, they could hear him coming. Squall's attack would not surprise them.

What _did_ surprise them, just as the hunter charged into their midst, was the sudden swooping blaze of red and gold, and the conflagration which bloomed around them. Momentarily blinded by the searing blast, they were ripe for the carving. Inside of ten seconds, he had already killed seven of their number, including both cubs.

It was while he was sailing through the air, leaping onto the back of his eighth target, that molten thunder rained down from above in three unbelievably accurate bursts. Snow Lions #9 and #10 suddenly metamorphosed into headless ruins. And as Squall raised his sword for a downward stab, the same fate was visited on the last lion. The dead lion dropping in its tracks, only Squall's impaling gunblade keeping him balanced on the lion's back.

He straightened, staring hard at a distant shadow high in the sky.

—ox-oxo-xo—

"Um…" Nida noted, "…I believe he just gave us the bird…"

"Did he? What an ungrateful bastard, ya know?"

"RAGE!" Fujin jabbed her own finger at the viewscreen, and Squall's already accelerating back. (Well, the finger in question was pointing straight up into the air if one wished to be technical...)

Selphie burst out laughing. "See? TOLD YA it was Squall!"


	6. Trepidation

**Chapter 6 - Trepidation**

"You know," Ellone mused, "I've never actually been on a ship like this…" She ran her fingers along a sleek bulkhead, its gleaming surface slick under her touch. Almost like a well-polished wooden beam; it reminded her of the White SeeD ship on which she had spent much of her childhood. She still missed it, sometimes. Life had been so much simpler…

A wry smile danced across her lips. Her life had _never_ been simple. A few years ago, Quisty had asked her how she always remained so serene. She'd half-jokingly replied that if she hadn't learned to deal with the unexpected and downright impossible at an early age, she would have gone insane long ago.

"Hmm…" Quistis Trepe looked over her shoulder. "I've always wanted to take this thing into space. But I'm not actually very good at flying these things…"

Ellone Loire gasped. "Then there _is_ something you're not brilliant at!" They shared a determinedly light chuckle.

Ellone had tried to keep in touch with her old friends from the orphanage. She really had. But their lives had moved on, and they moved along with them. Zell was the worst; she hadn't seen Zell in the flesh for years. (But then, Zell rarely left Balamb these days.) Selphie and Irvine were almost as bad, tucked away in isolated Trabia (though Selphie at least was usually willing to let Ellone ride her into the dream world). Seifer was a little better – the former sorceress' knight was busy in his role as the head instructor for the White SeeDs under Matron Edea, but Ellone still spent a fair bit of time in their Garden, catching up with old friends. But without doubt, her best friend among them was Quistis.

Soon after Ellone had returned to Esthar with her Uncle Laguna following their first informal pilgramage to Winhill and the grave of his wife, Quistis turned up without warning one day, asking for access to the highly esoteric academic libraries of the city; in return, she offered to train and lead teams of Esthar soldiers and eliminators in the most dangerous of anti-monster patrols in around Esthar City. Kiros had been a little sceptical, but she'd assured them that what she was researching was the history of Guardian Forces, an understandable pursuit given the Balamb SeeDs' recent direct experiences with GF-related memory loss. And a year later, Quistis Trepe had her first thesis published.

While her dissertation only appeared in an obscure Estharan academic journal, it happened to attract the attention of the pre-eminent mind of Esthar. Dr. Odine offered her a lucrative research partnership, with a substantial degree of control over her fields of research – something which he had never offered any other scientist. And so Quistis returned to Esthar, this time to stay.

She was of course busy with her research; she also travelled constantly to distant destinations – for research, for speeches at universities and Gardens, as well as to Timber to 'catch up' with President Zone. (Ellone never could bring herself to ask her why she always took her whip with her when she went to Timber…and she never wished to use her powers to go back and find out either. Some things were better left buried…) But whenever Quisty got some free time, Ellone was happy to blow off her own workload and catch up with her. Over the years, the two maturing women had developed a close, easy friendship; one where each knew the personal boundaries of the other, and no longer even had to think of straying beyond them.

Of course, being who and what they were, there were plenty of painful moments, shared and private alike. Rinoa's death. Squall's disappearance. Laguna's passing, over a decade past. Cid's death, just a couple of years ago. And she couldn't escape the feeling that they were fast approaching another helping of pain…

"…Ellone?"

She jumped. "Sorry. Just thinking…"

"I know," Quistis sighed. "It's hard not to think about it." Her grip on the controls tightened. "So…" She made an effort to regain her light tone. "Have you told the others yet?"

Ellone blushed, "Seifer was easy. He gave me an earful, though." She chuckled warmly. "Apparently I managed to…interrupt him." Thankfully, she'd just commed him instead of connecting with the instructor…

Quistis snorted. "Well done." She knew of the White SeeD's…pastime as well as Ellone did. "And Zell?"

"Well, I checked with Seifer; it seems Zell doesn't actually have a com unit. I'll wait until lunchtime, when he's likely to be at home. I doubt it would be good work practice for him to pass out while he's under a car…" Gliding forward, she sat in the co-pilot's seat. "On that…" She straightened her long silk skirt. "Would you mind doing a little play-acting?"

Her friend snorted again. "You _do_ realise how wrong that sounds?"

In response, Ellone withdrew a sheet of paper from her sleeve and passed it over. Punching the auto-pilot control, Quistis read it. "…Ah, I _see_. Sure, I can do that." She shivered. "Hyne, that _never_ stops feeling weird…"

"Sorry, Quisty…" Ellone whispered.

"It's ok." Quistis cleared her throat. "Hi, Zell." She shifted as if _something_ inside her tried to answer; if Ellone knew Zell, he was yelling his head off. "No, _don't_ bother trying to respond. I can't hear you." She pursed her lips for a moment. "Think of this as Ellone's equivalent of a recorded message. You really should keep a com unit – didn't you have one?"

Ellone smiled sweetly for Zell's future benefit. "If I _really_ needed to, I could talk to you directly. But it's really exhausting to do it that way, and my energy is sadly at a premium for the moment. I'm sorry about this, Zell – and I really hope we didn't interrupt anything too important."

Quistis frowned at the card. "Oh… does this come before or after?"

"After, I think."

The blonde cleared her throat again. "In that case, you know what's happened. Ellone and I are on the _Ragnarok_; we took off from Esthar Airstation around half-an-hour ago, and we're en route to Balamb Town. Obviously, we'll be closer by the time you get our message. We're swinging by to pick you up on the way to Trabia; we'll explain further when we arrive. The time is 1026 hours, western Esthar time. We'll see you in a while, Zell." Quistis gave the card back. "Dear Hyne, that's a useful ability… I can almost sympathise with Odine." She smirked. "Almost."

Ellone shuddered at the mention of his name. Odine had attempted over the years, again and again, to arrange for her to participate once more in his experiments; he did not deal well with all the mere ethical and political restrictions upon his important scientific research, and co-operated only reluctantly at the best of times. "How can you _stand_ him?"

Quistis offered a mischievous leer, blue eyes twinkling. "I know his weakness…" One hand lazily drifted down her demurely peach-clad thigh, which, like the rest of her figure, remained superbly toned. The other hand rested suggestively on the coiled whip at her belt.

She gaped. "_No way_…!"

"…He's a terrible coward." Quistis released the auto-pilot, the merest ghost of a smirk still hovering about the not-so-incidentally excellent card-player's glossy lips. Bluffing was but another talent she possessed in plentiful measure; Ellone could do it, but nowhere as well as Quistis. She never could figure out why she kept falling for that… Her smile faded after a while, replaced by a slight frown. "We didn't tell Zell much, did we? Did you tell Seifer the whole story?"

"Over the _com_? No." Ellone sighed. "This isn't the sort of thing you can just drop on somebody from afar. I'll tell them when…" _When I can bring myself to do it…_ "…When we meet up with them. Should I tell Selphie and Irvine about Squall, do you think?"

"Mmmm… Probably not. I don't know that Selphie would believe it; besides, she's already keeping track of him. That's all she really needs to do. And as for Irvine, he's in a pretty dangerous place right now. _Not_ the time to knock his lights out without warning."

Quistis took a breath, virtually unnoticeable to anyone who didn't know her as well as Ellone did. "And…any luck with reaching Squall?"

She slumped. "None. The exact same result that I've had for the past fifteen years. That man may have been Squall once… but if there's anything left of him at all, I can't recognise it."

The last she had seen of the man she still thought of as her brother, through Selphie's 'eyes', he had been embroiled in a savage battle with a abnormally large ruby dragon in treacherous mountain terrain. The monster had unleashed a powerful swipe of its paw, and sent Squall tumbling down a steep slope. And the link had gone suddenly and completely silent, leaving nothing in its wake but a devastated Trabian headmistress and a grieving sister.

Quistis had done her grieving a long time ago, and took the news relatively well. Indeed, she had asked question after question of her best friend, in an analytical tone which only held a ghost of the emotion which someone who didn't know her as well as she did might have expected to find there. The questions themselves did not yield much in the way of answers at the time. It was simply assumed that Squall had died at the claws of a powerful dragon, somewhere in some mountains or other. Subsequent, unconfirmed 'sightings' of the vagrant former Balamb commander – sometimes linked to some truly bizarre traditions out in the hinterlands, like the worship of Squall as some sort of household spirit – never seemed to amount to anything like real evidence to prove their conclusion incorrect.

And now, after all those years, proof was finally obtained that Squall was alive…and that he had somehow changed so profoundly that even _Ellone_ couldn't recognise him for who he had been. And those questions which had been asked, the research conducted and never quite completed all that time ago, suddenly rushed forward to hint towards some truly horrific possibilities…

She truly wasn't looking forward to breaking the news to his old friends. But she knew them. If their worst fears came to pass… if Squall truly had to die, then only they would have the slightest possibility of success. And if anyone was going to kill him, they would suffer no other hand to perform the heartbreaking task.

* * *

A/N: The way I'm posting these, by the way, is in blocks of three chapters. So, given that I just finished Chapters 7 to 9 (a longer set of them this time, given that we're getting into some of the real meat of the story), I now post Chapters 3 through 6. That, and correct the mistakes that slipped through in earlier chapters. And the next ones after 9 will likely be nice and long too. I plan to have them up in a week or two, lack of heatwaves here permitting.

I hope people out there are reading and enjoying this. And reviewing this. (Hint.) If you've read this far, it might be safe to mention that this is my first FF8 fic, and my second fic of any decent length. So if you have pointers, I'd surely love to hear them...


	7. The Vortex

**Chapter 7 – The Vortex**

A/N: From here, as mentioned earlier, the chapters tend to get longer. In fact, Chapters 7 to 9 were originally intended to form a single chapter. (Sorry – there doesn't appear to be much I can do about it.) Also, divergences in the magic system become more obvious; this is deliberate.

Warning: contains…mild-to-moderate (I guess?) coarse language.

* * *

Selphie looked down. And _down_…

_…Oh my… that's a long way down…_ She couldn't even see the bottom, shrouded from the afternoon sun by the rocky precipice.

Squall had lived up to his word. There really _was_ hard climbing involved.

The _Ragnorak_ pinnace's crew had tailed the hunter high into the mountains, tracking him all the way to where she now stood. But Squall had also been correct in warning them that landing nearby was impossible. And so they had been forced to backtrack to the nearest piece of flat terrain large enough for the airship to land, perhaps eight hundred metres to the northwest. (By foot, of course, it was more like five times that distance.) Selphie had stepped out with a few radio beacons, and the pinnace departed for Trabia Garden to begin the task of ferrying search parties into the area. She had at least traversed that distance safely, and even in a time the match of Squall's. Though, that wasn't saying much for her stamina; Squall had bounded up and down those slopes like some demented mountain goat. _After_ running all the way here, stopping only for combats and a spot or two of looting afterward, and to signal his location to the ship.

Using the butt of her customised Strange Vision as an impromptu hammer, she drove the second locator beacon into the rock at the top of the cliff. Her eyes scoped the inner contours of the deep, jagged shaft. A landslide had covered one side with boulders and scree; she suspected that the rubble buried what had once been a series of switchbacks. The other side, like the bottom, was too dark to make out clearly, standing as she was in the light.

Well, there were ways of dealing with that. One hand shielded over her brow to fend off the sun's rays, Selphie aimed at a spot in the centre of the shaft.

Her _firaga_ spell lit the shaft below like a bonfire. (Perhaps a hundred metres below, Squall used the distraction to truncate the snout of a hexadragon.) The spell winked out; Selphie decided queasily not to repeat the act. If Squall had been the one to startle, he would by now have been in serious trouble.

A couple of minutes later, another fire spell burned for a moment; it lit a small section of the shadowed precipice. She squinted. _Is that something on a ledge…?_

Working her way down to it took a little while, mostly due to the darkness; the climb itself was actually easier than some of what she'd had to do to get there. Looking down at what she had seen from the top, she smiled.

_Good old Squall…_ He may not have waited at the top for her, but he _had_ left her what she needed to follow him down – _and_ to highlight the recommended path for the reinforcements. A dozen giant, splintered (and blood-spattered) bones were stacked upon several _long_, tightly coiled strips of snow-lion fur. And now that she was out of the sun and her eyes had adjusted, she could easily see where the jury-rigged guide rope needed to go.

It still took over an hour to first make it back to the top, and then string the guide ropes out along the path. Panting from the exertion at the bottom, on level ground at last, she straightened to look around.

As promised, there was a mine entrance. As _she_ had promised him, there were also powerful monsters. Two hexadragons. Or rather, two ex-hexadragons. She could just see Squall, a dark figure sitting on top of one of them.

His voice, rasping and rusty with disuse (and, she vaguely hoped, exhaustion), barely carried to her. "You promised tough monsters, and you delivered. We eat here." A weak fire spell, more like a spark, dimly illumined the shaft floor for long enough to track the package he lobbed in her direction. Some watercress shoots from her own supplies really set off the rich, marbled dragonflesh; she finished with water and a dried apple, finding a small spring behind the other dead dragon to refill her canteen afterwards.

Turning around, she saw him slide down the furred side of the dragon, moving towards the mine entrance with gunblade in hand. His solemn words drifted back to her: "I promised you a husband."

Grinning, she followed him.

—ox-oxo-xo—

Zena's eyes shimmered, a quite fetching quicksilver. Again.

Irvine sighed. "Why do you keep scanning your brother?" _And while I'm at it,_ he wondered, _why are you _still_ coming onto me? Is it some weird survival mechanism? Did you pick it up out of a romance novel? Or are you just insatiably horny?_ Come to think of it, it could be all three of those things…or, it occurred to him, another factor entirely. But she was giving him an answer to his _spoken_ question.

"I'm not actually trying to scan _him_. I'm trying to scan _behind_ him."

He blinked. "You can do that? Scan inanimate objects?"

"Don't see why not." Zena rubbed at her eyes; she really was quite young, and it was obvious when she forgot herself for long enough to act like it. Which was never for long. She leaned over to rest her head against his shoulder. "But it doesn't seem to work. The scan spell only seems to work on a single object, in line of sight…"

Irvine gently pushed her away. It was the smart thing to do, even if he felt like a heartless bastard every time he did it; he _well_ knew what she was doing, and also knew that he could _not_ afford to let the conniving sorceress think she could get away with it. She threw him a pout. Her brother Zamal slept on, snoring gently; he'd really made an effort to make himself useful today…whenever 'today' was down here.

Irvine absently massaged his right hand. "Damn finger…" He winced, realising his mistake instantly.

Zena leaned in again. "I could kiss it better…"

_…Screw this…_ He turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were inches from his, her lips ever-so-slightly puckered… Irvine ignored the lips, staring her down. She withdrew, hiding the hurt at his rejection pretty well; if he was her age, he might not have caught it.

Then again, if he _was_ her age, then he'd probably not have turned her down. Indeed, he'd likely be very busy right about now… He blinked. Cheeky minx! Those thoughts didn't belong anywhere in his head…_especially_ when one of his old friends had the ability to drop Irvine's _wife_ into position behind his eyeballs at any given moment.

"So… How far along are you with your sorceress classes?" Even as he asked the question, Irvine decided to see if his recent hunch about her motivations was correct.

"It's goin' alright…" The stock-standard response to an instructor asking about a student's studies. "The 'magic' part's interesting…" She mustered the courage to dart another suggestive smile at him. "…But I like the 'physical' stuff more."

He rolled his eyes. "Have you done anything on statistics yet?"

She made a face. "Do I _have_ to?"

"Not if you don't want to be a SeeD," Irvine shrugged. "But there are some statistics you might not know. And as a sorceress, you _should_ know them."

She was trying to hold the 'suggestive' look, but at the moment it was tending more towards 'puzzled'.

"Do you know how many sorceresses there are in the world?"

She pouted again. "A _pop quiz_? _Now?_"

He glowered back. "Well?"

"Wait, I remember this… The last I heard, there were 278 of us. That's just the ones on the Garden's logs, there's probably some other ones still hiding their powers." She grinned. "I'm right aren't I, Instructor."

He nodded, "Not precisely, but the figure goes up and down every so often. My _wife_, Headmistress Selphie _Kinneas_—" No harm being blunt with that much, he figured. Pity it never seemed to work… "—told me a couple of months ago that the last count was 292 sorceresses." He marshalled the figures in advance from the dim recesses of his memory, with a certain amount of difficulty; it wasn't like he cared overmuch for such things, especially when the had no relation to the calculations related to marksmanship. "Almost _all_ of whom became sorceresses on the same day, in the same way." He let out a melancholic sigh. "Before your time, of course. I seem to remember you said you got the power from an elderly sorceress?"

Zena gave him a sombre nod. "Her husband died of old age or something, and she tried to kill herself. But she couldn't _really_ die 'till she passed on her power, so the village women ran a lottery for the girls. I was the winner." He noticed her lips again, how they trembled for just a moment. "So I was given the sorceress power, and then they sent me off to Garden like I was a package…" _Bingo._

"Thought so. You _do_ realise the contest was rigged, right?"

She gaped at him, all pretence of allure thrown out the window. He sighed again. It was an educated guess, not knowledge of her village, but he was willing to bet that guess was spot-on.

"The women of your village were not stupid, Zena. They _listened_ to the warnings that Garden and the governments put out about the sorceresses. And not just the one about not killing them." _Now_ she was actually listening… "Garden has researched this pretty well. Of those 292 sorceresses, or however many there are at the moment, how many of them do you think have knights – _had_ knights, at the moment they were chosen?"

She blinked, frowned.

"Ninety-three percent of them. And that's down from ninety-_six_ percent, with the original group of sorceresses from twenty years ago. Do you really think _that_ happens by accident?"

"H-how?" The young sorceress was actually beginning to sniffle. Hopefully it wasn't another ploy for gratuitous 'comfort'…

"Rinoa…she knew what she was doing. She knew that sorceresses who are paired with good and kindly knights have the best chance of living out their lives in peace." His eyes looked into a time long gone. "_She_ had such a knight. She had all the powers of the mad sorceress Ultimecia… and she managed to control them for _nine years_, Zena. Even more – when she finally began to lose her grip, she held on for long enough to figure out a way to _divide_ her power – among _hundreds_ of girls and women, all over the world. Something that no sorceress before her had ever done before." Focussing once more on the present, and on the sorry sorceress before him now, Irvine reached out with his left hand, gripping her shoulder to emphasise his point. "_That_ is what a good knight can do for you." A sardonic grin stretched his lips for a moment. "Not that you didn't _know_ that, of course."

She rolled her eyes, blushing faintly. He scowled at her.

"And here's another statistic for you… Do you know how many of those men and boys – and girls and women—" She blinked again. There certainly weren't _many_ of them, but females could serve as knights. Of course, she hadn't been thinking of that, now had she… "—are _lovers_ as well as knights?" He squeezed her shoulder to emphasise the point. 'Only about half. Most of the rest are family – fathers, sons, brothers, cousins. One in ten knights is a _twin_ to the sorceress."

He could almost _see_ her mind go 'click'. Zena darted a glance at her snoozing brother.

"Yep, _that's_ why they picked you. They figured you already had a knight." Irvine retrieved his hand, waiting for her to process it all.

"But I hate him!"

"But he loves you." His statement stung her to silence. "When you connived your way into joining my hunting party, did he not follow you? Has he not protected you for that entire journey, with every fibre of his being?" She bit her lip, staring at Zamal. "Being a knight… it's about love. He loves you." Irvine rose to his feet, stretched with a weary grunt. He really could use more sleep; pity he wasn't going to get it. "There's nothing in the Sorceress Rulebook that requires you to _fall_ in love with your knight, Zena." He snorted. "Or even be that nice to him."

"But…"

She reminded him of Rinoa, actually. Too young, in too many ways. Headstrong, impulsive…but she did listen to reason, if it was presented correctly. Irvine made his eyes as cold as they could go. _Squall in Mission Mode…_ His gun rose, poised like the hand of Hyne over the dozing youth. "Or I could just put the poor kid out of his misery now…"

She _knew_ he wasn't going to shoot a party member in cold blood…right? But the expression which twisted her face into a rictus gave her confidence the lie.

_…Point made._ He lowered the gun, raised the glare. She started breathing again. He tried not to snicker.

"…That doesn't prove anything…"

"You keep telling yourself that."

—ox-oxo-xo—

"Stop."

"What is it?" Selphie glared at her travelling companion. _First he comes charging down here without a break, and _now_ he wants to stop?_ And then she blinked. _This feeling…_ The Trabia Headmistress grinned. The 'faeries' had just stopped by for a visit…

He looked over his shoulder at her, his expression impatient – and his eyes quicksilver. "Cast an area-scan spell and see for yourself."

_Did I mishear him?_ "…A…_what_-scan spell?"

"Ah…" He frowned for a moment. "Alright… See that spot on the wall? That one _right_ there?" Squall was pointing at a completely unremarkable piece of wall, a little way in front of him and to the right. "Scan that."

She stared at him. "All riiiight…" She scanned that space. "Hm?" A short rectangular strip, perhaps the size of a Triple Triad card, seemed to present itself for her inspection. "Huh…" Alongside the seemingly innocuous object, ghostly lettering began to form in the air. "I never knew you could scan _objects_…"

"It's not just an object."

-0-0-0-

'GA-1567 Anti-Galbadian Personnel Motion Detector-R

Developed by Trabian demolitioneers to guard against

infringement by Galbadian troops, machines and

unauthorised firearms.

Triggering will cause the mine tunnel to collapse.

_Vive la _Trabia!'

-0-0-0-

"…What? Oh, _bummer_!"

Squall noted, "There are similar detectors on the opposite wall and the ceiling, but they say the same thing. See that patch of earth just there?" He pointed at it – it did seem suspiciously rectangular, like a paving stone. "Scan it…"

-0-0-0-

'GU-1567 Mine Security Template

Used to deactivate the GA-1567 security system.

Only loyal Trabians may gain access; speak the

password, o patriot, and the system will turn green

and you may pass. Galbadians will be crushed like the

bugs that they are.

_Vive la_ Trabia!'

-0-0-0-

Squall shrugged. "It seems likely such a trap was responsible for the cave-in which stranded your husband. Do you know how to disarm the trap?"

"Hmm… Hmmmm…" She snapped her fingers. "It's so obvious! _Viva la_ Trabia!"

Nothing happened.

"Selphie."

"…Yeah Squall?"

"What does that mean?"

"Oh, it just means 'live for Trabia'…" The three strips and the plate flashed green. "…Oh." She stared at him for a moment. "Y'know… I wish I could believe you meant to do that…" Selphie walked over the plate, which stopped glowing. "Coming?" She shivered for a moment; the inner presence of Ellone and whoever she'd roped in for the connection had just left.

He looked at the plate…

"Come on! Just say 'live for Trabia' and you can go through!"

Looked at the plate. Looked at his gunblade. Looked at Selphie. _Oh right…no way in hell that's an authorised firearm…_ "Ok, hold on a second!" She searched for anything out of place. _There's gotta be an access panel somewhere…_ It occurred to her that here was a chance to satisfy her curiosity regarding that spell. "Hey, Squall… Can you spot me one of your…what was it? _Area_-scan spells?" She could probably find the access panel anyway, but damn it she wanted to try one of those things!

In response, he rummaged in his inventory for a moment. She peered avidly in the poor light at the lumpy object in his hand. _Huh…it's just a magic stone…_ Sheathing his gunblade, he cupped the stone between his hands for a moment, closing his shimmering eyes. When he opened them, they were back to their customary stormy blue… and the stone shimmered like a polished ball bearing, perfectly spherical in his hands. He tossed it over to her. "Place it on the ground. Stand a little away from it." Still staring at him – _I could've sworn Siren didn't make tools like that!_ – she did as he directed. "Now scan it."

…It was _amazing!_ It was like, there was a…a _bubble_ surrounding her, its surface shimmering and rippling with every move she made. Her head darted up and down and around, and her world shook like a swirled fishbowl! A flash of movement to her right brought a large panel of aluminium winging out to her, revolving gently in front of her eyes in the standard fashion. But instead of the ghostly words, a voice began to speak. A lot like Squall's voice, only smoother. And deeper.

_'Camouflaged panel to security access console. Trapped; push hidden button at top right of panel to open without mishap.'_

She did this, blowing dust from the ancient keypad the panel had hidden. A tiny green LED screen lit up, waiting for a passcode – and a long string of digits was suddenly superimposed upon the display. _Wow…this really is some spell!_ She typed in the code as she saw it. The screen flashed three times and went blank. _I hope that worked…_

Selphie turned round, to find Squall standing next to her, gunblade in hand and eyes bathed in liquid metal once more. She couldn't help it – she _looked_ at him, gaze drawn to the hunter like a lodestone. And…flinched.

His aura was a lot like his mane. Grey, dark, with licks of blood-red flame pulsing throughout. That voice spoke…

'Name…' But the voice suddenly warbled into gut-roiling static. 'Age…' More static. She clutched her stomach. 'Purpose…' She slammed her hands over her ears, dimming that awful noise not one bit. Stomach heaving, eyes streaming, head pounding, dropped to her knees, Selphie stared stupidly at the seven ghostly symbols which appeared above his forehead, swirling in the gravitational pull of the vortex which his aura suddenly seemed to resemble, the aura that seemed to claw at him as if trying to eat him alive…

The report of the hunter's gunblade echoed on and on through the claustrophobic passageway.

Selphie's vision cleared, her stomach calmed, that Hyneawful voice cut off mid-gargle. She gaped up at him, quivering on the edge of hysteria.

"Sorry." He truly did seem repentant. "I have not used standard scan spells for so long… I had forgotten. Area-scans are more vivid. They take some getting used to."

"And…" She slowly stood, wiping her eyes, trying to rein her hammering heart back into her chest. The fused remains of the Mirror Stone crunched under her feet as she backed away from the hunter. "…You _always_ use that spell?"

"Not always. Only when there is reason." He smiled, and for a moment he truly did look like Squall. "You do _not_ want to examine a malboro with that spell." The smile evaporated, and he was the nameless hunter once more.

The one that his own scan-spell had labelled: '?#?#?#?'

The words burst out of her, like the vomit which had so narrowly escaped the same fate. It felt at this point like she must expel either one or choke on the other. "How can you _stand_ it? _Doesn't it sicken you?_"

He looked down at her, silent. But…she could see the answer in his eyes. It was, word for word, the same one that she'd seen there decades before, before he changed.

_Yes. I just live with it._

—ox-oxo-xo—

_"S'like, Squall…" Selphie swayed in her chair, raising her voice over the music. "'ve always wondered…"_

_"Hmm?" He raised his head, staring at her muzzily. He was, she reflected, absolutely plastered…but then, so was most everyone else. Irvine was trying to dance with Ellone, and failing miserably – partly due to his intoxication, but mainly because the slightly less inebriated woman kept mischievously goosing him whenever she got the chance. Quistis and Rinoa were staring each other down across a flimsy card table; at an unseen signal, they snatched up their glasses and tossed back their shots. Quistis fell out of her chair in slow-motion; Rinoa burst into helpless giggles before joining her down there. Meanwhile, Zell and his girlfriend whats-her-name Pigtail were necking, sprawled on his bed; he seemed to be twitching to the guitar solo, but she didn't seem to be minding._

_She tried to remember why she never brought a camera to these…things. Then she tried to remember what she was asking Squall about._

_"Oh right!" She attempted to snap her fingers, somehow missing. "Y'know that prison? Y'know, that one we busted out'f?"_

_He blinked stupidly. "…Yeah?"_

_"S'like, Squall…" She remembered again. "Why weren't ya…tied up or summink?"_

_He smirked and snorted, his head bobbing and waggling. Selphie was pleasantly assaulted with the image of a Squall-plushie with a cute little nodding bobble-head…but he was answering. Hyne he must be shitfaced! "Pissed off the torturer. Made'im lek- elet-" he grimaced, "zap me till I passed out." A single tear rolled down his cheek – quite literally the first she had ever seen him shed since she'd left the orphanage as a child. "Hadda choose – lie or die. I chose ta die." He scrubbed at his eyes. "Guy pissed off, moombas lemme down." He shrugged, smirking again. "Prob'ly. Don' remember that bit…"_

_Selphie found her lower jaw on the floor, bubbling drool and muttering 'booyaka' to itself. She retrieved it, and placated the recalcitrant appendage with more whisky. She didn't know why, she _hated_ the stuff… Grabbing the half-empty bottle, she lurched upright and staggered over to Squall's armchair, plonking herself down on his lap. He let out an 'oof'. It was so funny, she bounced a couple more times. He didn't oblige. He was no fun… but then, she remembered, that was the whole _point_ of these weekly 'poker nights' over at Zell's new house, as Irvine and Zell called them. To teach him _how_ to be fun._

_"S'like, Squall…" She took another belt of liquor. "Whatzit like being tortured?" Actually, she'd been planning to ask something else, but for some reason the only other question which occurred to her at that moment was 'so what's up?' – and his sorceress girlfriend was _right there_ on the carpet, tonguing Quistis's ear— on second thoughts, she might've got away with it…_

_Squall snatched the bottle away. "Gotta drink more 'fore I ansser that." And he proceeded to chug away at the bottle, knocking off a sizeable quantity of the amber liquid. "'s better…" He fell silent for a while; she poked him in the stomach repeatedly. "Right… You've been hit by lightning, right?" Strangely, he seemed more lucid._

_"O'course! S'like…SeeDs! Thingy…job hazzid!" She took the bottle back._

_"Right. Now imagine being stuck to a sheet o' metal. So's it hits you all over."_

_"Right…" Kinda like a _thundaga_, really…_

_"Right." He leaned forward, his forehead bumping gently against Selphie's. He stared into her eyes from a handful of centimetres away, deadly serious. "Now imagine some shithead askin' you a bunch o' stupid questions wi' no answers, and tellin' you he'll keep on zappin' if you don't answer 'em."_

_Blinking, she tried it… "…I don't get it."_

_Squall raised his head, her forehead sliding down his cheek – and twisting his neck, he planted a kiss on her temple. He slumped back, closing his eyes. A relieved smile, plainly visible for once, spread across his suddenly relaxed features. "Good."_

For twenty-nine years, she had kept that memory as a cherished artefact of her youth – perhaps not as grand as her wedding and other Irvine-related memories, but certainly on a par with finding her best friend from Trabia Garden safe after the missile attack. It was the only time that Squall had ever talked about his incarceration and torture…but more importantly, it was also the first time since he was a very young child that Squall had been able to show affection and open up to his friends. Not just embraces awkwardly accepted from Matron or Sis. Not just holding hands with Rinoa (who he always remained leery about kissing in public, much to Rinoa's amusement). Just a straightforward, physical demonstration of his love for them all.

Never again had Squall got that drunk. He claimed not to remember it the next morning. But _she_ had, and the others had been overjoyed to hear it.

To a greater or lesser extent, all seven of the Orphanage Gang (not counting Ellone) had entered their adulthoods with a welter of emotional scars, their souls scabbed over with the passage of years and battles. But after the chaos around the Ultimecia affair had settled, most of them had been given the chance to heal some of those wounds. To finish growing up, to become well-rounded, emotionally healthy adults (in relative terms at least). Or to put it bluntly, just to relax and let their hair down. Even Seifer found his own way to deal with things – first by heading to Fisherman's Horizon with his posse to start over, and then by joining the White SeeDs at Matron Edea's behest.

But Squall, one of the worst afflicted, had instead been thrust immediately and squarely into the highest echelons of the new world order. The weight of the world on his shoulders, and the hefty workload to prove it. To his credit, he had realised the problem – and come to his friends to help him work out how to metamorphose at last into a proper human being. That was the true rationale behind the 'poker nights', which had continued on a semi-regular basis for several years. And for Selphie Kinneas, her memory of that night was a glowing testimonial to friendship and what it could do if it were just given the chance.

For the others, that night also shed a bright light into how Squall's mind _truly_ worked.

For most of his life, Squall had lived with emotional pain. First abandoned, then trained to be an emotionless killer, then being forced into positions of unwanted leadership at a woefully inadequate age – there had been nothing he could do to change any of these circumstances. As he figured it, his pain was his own, an immutable fact of his existence – and sharing his pain with others he cared about, was tantamount to _giving_ them pain. And why should he wish to inflict pain on his loved ones? (And, if they cared about _him_, then why should they wish to give him _their_ pain?)

Selphie's drunken, impulsive question had in retrospect proved to be perfectly chosen. That she could not imagine the torture he had suffered, made him happy – and anxious to preserve her, preserve _their_ ignorance of what it had felt like for him. They didn't have his memories (after an inopportune question the next week, Squall had flatly forbidden Ellone to take anyone back to that time), or his nightmares (Rinoa had mentioned those; he claimed never to remember). And he was content to leave it at that.

—ox-oxo-xo—

To Squall – and, she guessed, to the nameless hunter who stood before her now, looking at her with faint concern – pain was not something to be _resolved_. No, it was something that just had to be _lived with_. It had simply never occurred to him that others could help him to rid himself of it, if he just let them try. It had taken them all _years_ to beat that into his obstinate skull.

And now he was all the way back to square one. Square _zero_, even.

But she and the others had done it once before. Selphie took a deep, cleansing breath, reminding herself once again of that simple truth. It _wasn't_ impossible. Love could conquer _anything_.

If he didn't know who he was, then it was time to remedy that. After all, she had him as a captive audience.

* * *

A/N Postscript:

Two things. (1) One of these days, I'm going to work out how to use two types of spacing in a posted document - I could swear I've seen it somewhere... (2) I seriously enjoyed writing that 'drunken Squall' bit, and might post a lengthier version as a oneshot.


	8. The New, The Unknown

**Chapter 8 – The New, The Unknown…**

A/N: Warning: lavish descriptions of violence. Hooray...

* * *

The first thing Zell Dincht noticed when he came to was the sensation of a moist washcloth gliding across his face. He opened his eyes, smiling sheepishly at his wife. "Sorry dear. That wasn't my fault."

Leaning past him with an eyebrow raised, she lifted his bowl for a moment to wipe up the messy ring of stew which now surrounded it. He must've dropped off to sleep in his lunch.

_Great timing, Ellone…_

"Hm?" Sweeping her braid back over her shoulder, Mary glanced at him. He must have said that aloud.

"Oh, sorry… An old friend. You remember I told you about her? The one who takes me to the 'dream world' sometimes?" It wasn't something he mentioned around their kids, for a number of reasons, but he held few secrets from his wife of twenty-five years and the 'kids' were absent in any case.

"Oh right…Ellone Loire wasn't it? The old Estharian President's daughter? Didn't I meet her a few times?"

"Laguna's adopted daughter, yeah…" He grabbed his napkin, vigorously scrubbing his face. It came away clean, if a little damp. "How long was I out?"

Mary shrugged, tossing the washcloth on the table and sitting back down to her own helping. "Only a few minutes. How long is it usually?" Her fingers twitched unconsciously toward her breast pocket for a moment, where a pen and pad waited as always.

"Well, I think time goes at the same speed there as it does here… It was mostly just a message for me this time round, actually." He frowned for a moment, rubbing at his balding pate. "Didn't we have a com unit somewhere?"

"We did." Mary had developed a mean poker-face over the years; nonetheless, he could tell she was trying not to laugh. "And then Tom and Jill moved to Garden, and they took it with them. I swear, what is up with your memory nowadays?"

"It's the GF!"

"What GF? You haven't used one for ages!"

He sat there, gaping at her. She burst out laughing.

"Oh all right," Zell admitted, "maybe I'm just getting old…" Remembering the message's contents, he dug into the remains of his lunch with maniacal fervour. The matronly librarian stared at him, her spoon hovering over her own bowl. "W'ssup?"

"…What's your rush? It's not like it's hotdogs…"

He swallowed, clearing his mouth of a bulging mouthful. "Oh yeah… All sorts happening. Irvine's trapped in a mine somewhere…"

"…Really? That poor man! I hope he's alright!"

He paused for a second, to swallow another heaping load of meaty stew. "…And Selphie's looking for him…"

"Good luck to her! I hope she finds him…"

"…And she's found Squall."

She stopped mid-gush. "…Squall Leonhart?" He nodded, his mouth full of well-buttered bread. "The Garden commander?" He nodded again, tilting his bowl to scrape up the diminished remains of the stew. "The one everyone says…died over fifteen years ago…?"

"Yeah… Beats me, but _Selphie_ seems to believe it." Zell shovelled in the last spoonful, swallowing hastily. "And so do Ellone and Quistis, because they're heading for Trabia… And they're stopping by here on the way, which is why they sent me the message. They want me to go with them, Mary." He looked at her, pleading silently.

Mary had frozen in place, holding her breath. Then she sighed and stood up. "It'll be cold in Trabia… I'll get your coat."

He bounded up from his chair. "Awesome! Thanks honey!" He ran over and hugged her. "Oh! Wanna come? I'm sure there's room on board…"

She groaned. "But it's _cold_ up there…"

"C'mon… Think of it as a holiday! And we haven't caught up with them all in a while…"

She groaned again. "But what if there's fighting…"

"What, on a _Ragnorak_-class pinnace? In the middle of Trabia Garden?" He stood back, hands on his hips. "Look, are you gonna come quietly or am I gonna have to throw you over my shoulder?" Though come to think of it, she _was_ a little heavier than when he carried her over the threshold all those years and children ago…

Espying the look on his face, she burst out laughing again. She always did like to catch him out.

—ox-oxo-xo—

"…What was that creature?"

Selphie looked over at her dour companion. "Oh, that was Tonberry. It's a GF." He gave her a blank stare. _Oh, right – he's forgotten about them…_ "Ok… On the way here, we saw you use a Phoenix Pinion on that pride of snow lions. Remember?"

He nodded, so slightly that it might have been a trick of the flickering light; no comment was made regarding the fight's truncated ending. She began looting the heavily mangled hexadragon's carcass.

"Well, Phoenix is a type of GF that _doesn't_ just sit in the back of your mind until you ask for help. You just use an item to summon it. And then, if you happen to get KO'd, it might just come back and help you out for free!" He nodded again. Her initial round of looting done, she pulled out a thick deck of blank cards. The upper face of the top card strobed a faint red. Grinning, she rubbed that card on the dragon's matted fur. After all, Irvine liked to play.

"But there's a big bunch of GFs out there that will agree to let you summon them as many times as you want. They're not really monsters, though you may have to defeat them once to get them to help you…" She noticed Squall, staring at the card. "Oh! It's a Hexadragon card!" The hunter blinked. "Oh yeah… You don't play cards anymore, huh?" She held it out, inviting him to look. "You used to be _really_ good at playing, you know…"

Instead, his eyes rested on the deck it had come from.

She hesitantly handed it over. "They're just bits of magic cardboard, but a dead monster might sometimes impose a little bit of its essence onto a card. That's how the cards are made, see? And there's a thunder GF called Quezacotl which can turn those cards into more loot! Pity I didn't bring him along…" She trailed off, staring at the hunter…whose eyes had just started to glow.

Squall was looking down with quicksilver eyes at her card-deck, a look of concentration etched into his grizzled face. Peeling away a card, he rubbed it between his fingers. Sniffed it. Even (she grimaced) licked it! He didn't seem to notice her expression, contemplatively staring off into the distance.

"Um…Squall?"

He nodded, but the action appeared to be unrelated to her grab for his attention. Peeling off several more cards, he handed her back the rest of the pack. Sliding most of the so-rudely purloined cards into a pocket, he licked the first card again – then, unceremoniously raking the hair out of his face, quickly stuck the slobbery rectangle on his forehead.

His eyes pulsed, blazed like molten gold for a moment…

And, wiping it down, he handed the now gently glowing card back to her.

Holding the still-moist rectangle carefully by the edges, she tried to work out what the hell he'd been doing… And a delighted grin wreathed her face as she saw it.

It was a _map_. And not just any map. Its inky lines actually hovered _above_ the card-paper; when she rotated the card side-on, the lines were revealed to portray three dimensions, showing depth as well as length and width. At various point on the paths, red motes lazily floated along the lines or flickered and winked in place; along the kilometre-long stretch of path that they'd already traversed, dimmer motes did not move. Monsters, she realised… And one tiny little green mote, which she thought must be _her_, hovered next to the dim red mote that (she spun in a circle, watching the map bobble and spin with her like a compass) represented the dead hexadragon.

She looked up into the hunter's unblinking silver gaze. "This is _awesome!_ But why aren't _you_ on it?"

He shrugged. "_I_ know where I am."

…So why would he need a fancy-shmancy map to tell him? _Good point, I guess…_ She knew perfectly well her chances of getting an answer out of him regarding _how_ he could do that; as such, she moved onto more important matters. "Do you think we can find Irvy and the others with this?"

"If they're alive." She scowled at him; he had the grace to look the tiniest bit penitent for a moment. "If they were anywhere within…two kilometres I think…they would show up as more green dots. We go further in. I will make another map when it's needed," he added, already walking on.

She trotted to catch up, tucking the card away. "And what would you have done if I didn't have those cards?"

"Search every passage. Kill everything not human. See if area-scan pulses like the one I just put in the card could pick them up." Squall shrugged. "It could have taken weeks." Suddenly he chuckled. "But then, I think I'll come back here after I'm done with you. I like this place." His teeth flashed, feral in the firelight. "Good hunting…"

Selphie glared daggers at his back. _'Come back after I'm done with you'? You won't get away from me THAT easily…_ But then, she realised, _…at least he's talking more now._ He didn't really have to say that last bit. She decided to take it as progress; she therefore proceeded to work on it some more.

"So like… Did you know, you used to know Irvine too?" He gave no sign of having heard her, but she knew he wasn't deaf. "Yup, he was at the orphanage too…but he went to Galbadia, and learned at their Garden…" They descended down the gentle slope, leaving the hexadragon's pilfered carcass settling into the dirt behind them.

—ox-oxo-xo—

"So… Do you have any ideas about that 'super-scan' thingy?"

Irvine heard the question, but ignored it. It was meant for Zamal.

_And isn't that something?_ His hunch might not have played out fully – sadly, Zena was still hitting on him, though not as much and it felt a little less…single-minded now – but the young sorceress had at least decided to try talking to her twin. And, almost as if to prove Irvine's point, her twin brother did _not_ just answer along the lines of 'I dunno'. No, he really thought about the question. He wanted to please his sister, after all.

Of course, that didn't mean that _Irvine_ wanted to hear them banging on about it. But, he reflected, it kept the kids busy. Ambling along on point, he let their conversation wash over him, ignoring their speculations. Words and phrases like 'reflection', 'focal points', 'diffusion', 'para-magical limitations' and 'trace signatures' floated past without causing a ripple in the calm pool that was his mind. _Now Sefie… She'd be getting a right kick out of this kinda talk…_ He knew well enough that his wife had it over him in the straightforward 'brains' department, and she ate up that sort of high-technobabble. _I wonder how she's doing…_ He had to wonder if she'd found a way into the mine yet…hopefully without having the ceiling fall on her head; Irvine had his suspicions about that inconvenient cave-in.

One word behind him happened to snag his attention. "Triangulation?" The kids jumped a little, seeming to remember he was there.

But the topic proved no less incomprehensible with the happenstance addition of one familiar term. They went on talking. He went on leading. _…And what about the others? Is it just her? Or will the others come to help out?_ Irvine doubted it – after all, Selphie had an entire Garden at her disposal to help her search; why would the others need to pitch in? A small twinge of sadness shook him at that; the pair of them had really allowed themselves to drift out of touch with the others.

Irvine sighed, quietly so as not to disturb his charges. _It was probably losing Rinoa and Squall that did it…_ After they had gone, the magic seemed to have gone out of the old 'orphanage gang'.

Sure, they'd gotten on with their lives, ordinary or extraordinary. Zell's eldest pair of kids were seasoned SeeDs now – a knight-and-sorceress combo, to boot (which was where he got the idea to deal with Zena in the first place). Quistis, in the tradition of her ancient research partner, was beginning to have magical apparel named after her…not to mention dozens of new street names, as the Trepies grew up and migrated to the middle echelons of city planning, those creepy bastards. Selphie was lady and mistress of an entire Garden. Their old rival Seifer was now the second-in-command of the White SeeDs, junior only to the elderly Matron Edea. He himself was an Rank A Instructor, one of a mere handful of such individuals within SeeD. Even Ellone had managed to live her life quite comfortably as a public servant, not letting her powers weigh her down or impinge overly upon her freedom.

Rinoa's death was immensely painful, for all concerned. But at least there was the consolation that she'd died, of her own free will – for a greater cause. To help heal the world, so Irvine thought. _Her_ death, at least, was not in vain. It helped; it made their memories of her - certainly _his_ memories of her - a great deal more tolerable.

But Squall's loss… it labelled them all failures, to themselves if to no-one else. No matter that there truly _wasn't_ a way to save him – not once Rinoa had consigned herself to the planet. Rational thinking didn't help. In their hearts, they _knew_ they could have done more…

Irvine shook his head clear. _Whew…a little off topic there – I'm supposed to be keeping watch, not moping…_ The other two didn't notice, still prattling on about their magic.

_Wait a minute…_ "Zena. Another pop quiz for ya."

Zena looked over, a lascivious smirk leaping out at him. "Anything for _you_, dear darling Instructor…" Zamal rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh.

"Stop that. How do we know about para-magic?"

"Um…Doctor Odine?"

"Uh-huh. And how did he figure it out?"

"He researched a…sorceress?" And he could _hear_ their minds go 'click'. Chuckling, he left them to it… For about ten seconds.

"Zena! Put that fire-spell out! Get against the wall! _Quick!_" His tone was quiet but urgent; nervous, they did as he directed even as he followed suit. He pitched his whisper to just reach Zamal, over on Zena's other side. "Stay still and _silent_…"

His eyesight automatically enhanced by the internal presence of his GFs, he was the only one able to see…more or less… it was a pack (or whatever the plural was) of Creep-like creatures. Dozens of them. If they were spotted, they were in deep trouble… But – no, they weren't exactly hunting for their next meal. In fact they seemed to be in a hurry to be elsewhere…

After they were gone, he quietly asked Zena to reignite her light. Her face, pale and more than a little – heh – creeped-out, bloomed into focus; her brother was still looking in the direction the threat had gone. "…W-What…?"

"Creeps, or something like them. About _eighty_ of the damned things. I reckon they travel in groups that size to take down the more powerful monsters in this mine. Fortunately, they were running away from something."

Zena was still trembling. "S-so…w-what now?"

Zamal turned back to her. "If they're running away from something, then…"

Irvine shook his head, emphatically. "No, we're _not_ following the creeps. Chances are, we can deal with whatever it is they're running from. I know for a fact, though – not even my GFs can deal with _that many_ of those things, not at once." He grinned. "Hell, maybe they're running away from Sefie – _she_ can be pretty scary, you know…"

They headed in the opposite direction, all conversation ceased. Including the one about that damn 'super-scan' spell.

—ox-oxo-xo—

"Y'know," Selphie Kinneas paused from her detailed account on the lives of various people who he didn't care about, to take a rare breath, "I don't think I've seen _any_ small monsters down here. Where do you suppose they are, Squall?"

_At last…she says something worth listening to…_ Squall didn't turn to answer her. She had noted an important absence, one which would soon lead to some fun…well, the closest thing to 'fun' that he knew of.

"Heeey, did you hear me?" He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Elsewhere. When they have to, hexadragons can form temporary nests. They only do it to kill very powerful enemies."

She caught on immediately, like the good outdoors-type woman she manifestly was. "Like us!"

He nodded. "Some small monsters group in the same way, so they can kill the large monsters when they are alone or wounded. But when the large ones team up, the small ones are in trouble and they know it. So they go elsewhere."

She thought about that for a while, in blessed, _blessed_ silence. What did he care about all these people that he was supposed to know? It wasn't like he knew them now…or ever would… "But that means…" She fumbled for the mapcard, the second he'd made. And gasped. "Hey! I can see them!"

"Yes, the monsters—"

"No, Irvine! He's just coming in range of the map! She held her breath, squinting hard at the little green bead of light. Exhaling, she looked up with a grin. "And there's two more green motes too…" Thankfully, she didn't go charging further into the mine's depths immediately. Instead she began to examine the path required to reach them. Her face fell. "Oh."

"_Yes._ The monsters." The six hexadragons he had just sensed at the outer range of his spell, to be more specific to the moment. _So much for 'fun'…_ Irvine's Kinneas's nearing presence – and the powerful bands of monsters between them – complicated matters dangerously. In more ways than one. "I must ask: could you please cast an _aura_ spell on me? I intend to break my Limit." His inner demon started to snarl.

Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement. "Sure, but…don't _you_ have any _aura_s? Or, can't you make your own Aura Stone or something?"

"No, I don't stock them. Normally, I would just lure them out one by one. But that takes hours, and your husband will soon be in serious danger." Galvanised by the reminder of that threat, she began to cast the spell. "And some monsters can sense the flow of magic required to create such a stone. I don't know if we are close enough for the nearest group to sense it. But the chance cannot be taken." He surveyed his arms momentarily; they betrayed the golden sheen of the _aura_ spell. Sheathing his sword, he began to run. "Do not be alarmed by my Limit's break. Apparently it is…a little…_unuSUALLL…_"

Hopefully he could keep it leashed enough to keep her safe…or at least she would react correctly if he couldn't.

The gutteral shout at the end of that last sentence was unavoidable, given the rapidly progressing structural changes to his larynx…and his jawbone…and – pretty much _everything_, really. He never had liked his Limit break, for all its speed and fury. The inner voice (the GF? could Selphie be right about its identity?), on the other hand, roared with savage delight. This was what it _lived_ for!

Squall sprang forward, shining arms stretched out before him…

Bloody-hued grey paws, their clawtips composed of a substance even tougher than adamantine, punched into the cold rock for just long enough to power the next spring.

His clothing merged into his wildly expanding skin, forming broad, flexible plates of a grey so dark it could, in the poor light of the tunnel, be mistaken for black. The bottom of his spine flexed and hooked outward and extended, a whiplike cord encased with lighter grey rings of the same material which composed the plate jutting out over two metres long; the Lionheart protruded like a jagged bone from its flailing end. His body, limbs, neck – they all stretched, distorted midstride into the sort of structure required for moving – and _killing_ – on four limbs instead of two.

His shoulderblades ripped, with a welter of blood and fire and magic, out of his back; they lengthened, thickened into twin three-sided prongs of extremely dense armour arching over either side of his spine, their outer surface serrated, razor-sharp. His scarred face also stretched, darkened, into a thick feline-like muzzle. His teeth grew to points, polished and as sharp as the claws. His eyes no longer shimmered quicksilver – they flared molten gold, slitted pupils blazing like searchlights in the close darkness.

Only his mane remained more or less the same. It just lengthened a little to fit with the rest of the changes. And that was as it should be.

The Lion, roaring with hellish glee, leapt into battle.

—ox-oxo-xo—

Unsure of whether that…_change_ had injured him, Selphie opted for a Full-Cure as her own Limit break. She'd barely managed to _aura_ herself before The Lion (and at least a quick scan-spell allowed her to determine the name of that…_thing_, if absolutely nothing else), still gleaming a translucent yellow from her _aura_ spell, flung itself squarely into the midst of six very confused hexadragons.

With the lazy grace of a great cat, The Lion's left forepaw brushed the neck of the leading dragon on its way past… And, much like a cat, that paw hid retractable claws. _Four_ of them, each nearly as long as Squall's gunblade.

As the first dragon dropped, virtually decapitated, the other dragons began to let loose with fiery breath attacks, lighting up the cave and obscuring The Lion in the conflagration. Hovering amidst the shallow trance within which she trawled for her own Limit break, Selphie ripped off another Full-Cure, more-or-less for the hell of it; otherwise, she had no intention of doing anything but watching the fireworks. And trying to calm down the Tonberry, which seemed to be going nuts – for what she couldn't help but concede were pretty obvious reasons. It was a minor wonder that she wasn't panicking herself at the sight.

_…You know, I'm pretty sure Squall couldn't do that, last I knew him. Come to think of it, that's one of the strangest Limit breaks I've ever even heard of…_ Which, coming from the deceptively bubbly woman who could defeat virtually any enemy on the face of the planet by _giving it a happy ending_, was truly saying something.

She wasn't too worried, though. After all, under The Lion, it was still Squall.

The dragons beginning to fall, the behemoth-sized figure of The Lion became visible amidst the flames once more. It was enjoying itself immensely, roaring and yowling as it seemed to ricochet from ground to dragon to wall to dragon to ceiling to dragon to dragon; it fought with claws and teeth and tail, and even corkscrewed its way over a dragon's back, driving deep slashes into the hexadragon's matted hide with its shoulder-blades before springing away to blind another. No doubt the fight could have been over in a matter of seconds.

It was over a minute before all the fires extinguished, the throats which spewed them clogged with black blood or severed entirely.

Selphie blinked in the darkness. Her nightvision stunned after the display, she increased the power of her firelight spell…

The Lion loomed over her, its molten gaze boring down into her frozen, rabbit-in-the-headlights stare. Blood covered it; pooled on the ground under its paws, dripped in viscous rivers from its bullet teeth. It smelt like a massacre.

Its dripping paw slowly, slowly rose, reaching for her face. Selphie gulped.

"…Squall…?"

* * *

Yup, a cliffhanger...well not really, given the next chapter's being posted straight away...


	9. Ruby

**Chapter 9 - Ruby**

A/N: Longish chapter, this one. Warning: more depictions of graphic violence…better than last time, since I had a dry-run at it...

* * *

"…Squall…?"

The Lion stopped.

Possibly no other word could have saved her life; adrenaline and life-giving agony pulsing through its nervous system, drenched in the blood and fear of its flayed victims, The Lion quivered for it all to just _keep going_, for the blood to boil and spray forever. And, soon enough, _it would_. Its pathetic human symbiote's battle-luck would run out sooner or later.

But… Insane, savage berserker it might be (and it _knew_ this, and was proud), yet it did have its own memories. Not many of them, not treasured by any means. Yet their dusty, pitted shackles bound it still.

His name, on her tongue, punctured its fury like a claw lancing through an artery.

Gently, carefully, he rested one bloodsoaked toepad against her cheek. His voice, as quiet as he could make it through his grossly distorted larynx and blood-coated maw, rumbled like a purr.

"_SSSELPHIE… I ASSSK YYYOU TO HEALLL MMME AFFFTERRR THE CHANNNGE…_"

Withdrawing a safe distance, he began to return to himself.

Of course, The Lion did not go down easily. It never did.

His tail reared up and slammed its Lionheart tip into the gore-churned ground, burying it almost to the hilt before ripping away from it with a ragged arc of snapped scale and shattered cartilage. As the tail compressed and fused into its appointed shape with a cruel scorpion-like strike into his lower back, his elongated shoulder blades vindictively raked along his ribcage on their way back to their rightful position; they slipped sideways, slicing into his flesh with vicious abandon as they locked into place. His claws, all twenty of them, shot back into his rapidly mutating digits, the bones of his fingers and toes softening and developing joints as they slid back into their fleshly confines.

His jaw shortened, teeth shifting and trying to burst their shrinking anchors. The bones of his cheekline tore away from the cartilage of his nose as they migrated back to their human features, pinprick explosions thundered into his optic nerves as his pupils rounded once more. His clothing pulled free of its imprisoning scales, taking great swathes of skin along with it. And for ten eternal, mindshatteringly agonising seconds, every bone in his body repeatedly snapped and sliced and fused its way into new formations, shredding muscle and tendon and whatever skin remained into ribbons – which healed almost instantly, only to be eviscerated from within once again.

Fortunately, his trachea and larynx were undergoing the same metamorphosis; as such, his screams had no opportunity to announce their position to distant monsters. The Lion wasn't _stupid_, after all.

He lay there, curled in the foetal position, thrashing for a short while longer as his mindborne departee completed the change. New skin spread like a scab across bared, bloody musculature, hardening into its previous shape and hue. The open ends of his digits closed over, as did the gushing wounds on his upper back and the top of his buttocks. His nose reformed into its proper aquiline form, his eye-sockets stopped bleeding. His throat reopened, allowing him to moan and pant and vent the contents of his stomach at last.

The damage was healed; the pain remained. Such was the price The Lion extracted - not so much for its services, but for its recall.

Unsteady footsteps approached; his head was gently tilted up, thin fingers curling into his blood-soaked beard. A thin stream of liquid ice dribbled between his lips. Swallowing the elixir with effort, he rolled onto his back and let the pain subside to a dull ache, taking a few deep breaths.

Squall had not been forced to rely upon his Limit for over a year; nonetheless, he could remember having used it several times before. On every occasion, he had fallen into a deep sleep following its use. But this time, with the elixir's invigorating bite to rouse him – and Selphie's husband and his friends walking into harm's way – he managed to force himself to his feet.

Looking over at his companion, he saw her lower a canteen from her lips. She gave him a wan smile, still slightly green in the face apart from the crusting red smear across her left cheek. "…That's some Limit Break…"

"Sorry." Shame and dull pain coloured his voice ragged, hoarse. "I almost lost control of it at the end." Mercifully, he could remember no occasion where he _did_ lost control. To be safe, however, the hunter decided not to break his Limit again. Desperately wrestling for control of his transformed body at the time, he had no real clue of why The Lion had backed down and let him change back; he would _not_ risk it changing its mind again.

"…That was your GF, wasn't it…?"

Squall shrugged. He truly did not know.

Selphie smiled a little, appearing to understand. "That must've really _hurt_… do you use that Limit Break much?"

Chuckling harshly, he trudged over to his trapped gunblade. "Hyne no! If you hadn't healed me, I'd have passed out for the next day or so. _Not_ wise." Shoving the blade back and forth against its rocky embrace, squeezing the trigger several times loosened its grip enough for him to rip it free. This time, the cleansing mantra flung aside nearly two square metres of his own shredded skin along with the usual grit, blood and viscera.

"…Oh."

Wiping his gore-encrusted blade on a large, relatively unbloodied chunk of hexadragon hide, he turned to regard her.

Her gaze on him, her…_sadness…_ It was unbearable.

Squall didn't understand, not for a long while afterwards, why his feet carried him over to stand before her; why his hand rose to her cheek to brush away the dried blood he'd left there. He _certainly_ didn't understand why his mouth opened. "_Yes_, it hurts. _Yes_, I hate it. _Yes_, I avoid it. I _am_ human." He didn't even know whether he truly believed his words, at least the last ones.

But when she held his hand against her cheek and smiled up at him, he realised that he must have said the right thing. He even cared a little, in a distant sort of way. The Lion, in the recesses of his mind, sniggered.

He turned away, features allowed to return to their habitual, comfortable frown as the shimmering world of the area-scan spell reimposed itself upon his senses. "Now let's go rescue your husband. We're running out of time."

"Wait up!" She trotted to catch up to him, already fishing out the map.

—ox-oxo-xo—

"Now _that_, dear companions, was a bad sign…"

In the renewed light of Zena's fire spell, Irvine's face echoed his statement. She gulped. "Instructor…?"

"Creeps again. The same group of them as before, if I had to guess. Though there were only fifty or so of them this time..."

Zamal looked over at the sniper, his own face grim. "Only, going back the way they came this time…" He sighed. "Alright… Now what?"

"Well, turning around would mean backtracking, and I don't really wanna do that…" Irvine pursed his lips, attempting for the kids' benefit to dance around the fact that they were likely trapped between two powerful groups of enemies. "You know…I _think_ some of them were injured. Wait a moment." He checked his inventory… "Ok, we've got some Phoenix Pinions, so…"

From the direction in which the smaller monsters had approached, a distant roar echoed up the tunnel. It might've been his imagination, and yet…it had a distinctly _ominous_ tone to it. _So much for 'ignorance is bliss'…_

"…I think we'll follow the creeps this time." They broke into a run.

—ox-oxo-xo—

Squall stood and watched, the slightest of smiles twitching at one corner of his mouth. His eyes twinkled – not quicksilver twinkling for a change, just amused. Selphie somehow managed to refrain from giggling at the atypical sight.

Looking back over at the cause of his amusement, she _did_ giggle.

_Technically_, it was a three-sided battle. On one side – the four hexadragons which had been trying to ambush the pair. But they themselves had been surprised – of all things, by a giant pack of creeps. A second dragon fell, slashed to ribbons, and the others were blasting everything in sight…including each other, which had the effect of increasing their endurance for the fight. Over half of the creeps were down by this point, though the dragons didn't seem to appreciate the _thundaga_s which the dying shadows lavished upon their slayers.

Safely reflected to avoid their smaller enemies' desperation-strikes, the 'third' side stood off a little way. Squall negligently bisected any creep that tired of their pointless fight and attempted to escape past them. Selphie renewed the reflections when they faded, and occasionally dropped a mischievous water spell on the head of a hexadragon. It would infuriate them, and the dragon in question would begin to charge forward to meet them – only to be cut up severely by the creeps behind them.

Then something occurred to her…

"Hey, Squall?"

"Hm?" He turned to her, casually stabbing his blade through an approaching creeps' head. It attempted to wrap itself around him, scrabbling at the reflect barrier. Its dying _thundaga_ glanced away, grounding itself harmlessly on another creeps, which carried on trying to hamstring one of the dragons without pause; the dead creeps drifted to settle in a thin heap at Squall's feet, already beginning to crumble to ash.

"…Why do you think these creeps came along? Didn't YOU say they were trying to keep away from the big baddies?" He just shrugged.

She'd nearly had a heart attack when she spotted the swarm of tiny red motes heading towards the three little green ones which represented Irvine and his party…and breathed a sigh of relief when they flowed on past them without pausing. When she told him that, he'd chuckled.

And fair enough, she thought she could see why he'd think it was funny. After all, it kinda _was_. But there was something they were missing…

Stepping back from the fight for a moment, she examined the map. And, sure enough, there was Irvy. Only a few hundred metres distant from them now, actually. But coming down the shaft after them…

…_Oh, mega-bummer._ A big red pyrefly, chasing them. And slowly gaining.

"Uh, Squall? We might want to wrap this party up now…" Taking advantage of the lull in the fighting around them, she held the map under his nose. His blue eyes dropped down to examine it…and his smile actually widened for a moment.

"…You have a spare Phoenix Pinion?"

Grinning, she rummaged around in a pocket, fingers finding with the aid of long practice the minute braille-code in its lining symbolising the appropriate item-slot. A Phoenix Pinion materialising under her hand, she brandished it.

"KA-BOOM!"

—ox-oxo-xo—

Irvine stopped, gaping at the blinding conflagration up ahead of them. Zamal and Zena cannoned into him, knocking him another step forward. They joined in his mute, wondering appraisal.

"That's a…" Zamal stammered, unable to believe it.

"…It is, isn't it?" Zena grinned at her brother.

"A Phoenix summoning!" They started running even harder.

—ox-oxo-xo—

When the firestorm had passed, there were only two enemies left standing.

And only one of those was actually alive, in any meaningful sense. The last thing Squall had done before leaping into the light – as opposed to the snowlion fight earlier, where he'd just waited until the summons was over before fighting – was to cast one more area-scan spell on himself. At which point, the celestial display became but one more form of darkness in which he could make his move with impunity.

Hexadragons might absorb fire-magic…but that fact was ultimately irrelevant to a hexadragon with half a metre of adamantine gunblade lodged between its first and second vertebrae, its brainstem punctured. Phoenix's blazing energies had kept the dragon alive, even standing…until the fire dimmed and winked out, and Squall pulled the trigger.

And now there was only _one_ enemy left standing.

The last hexadragon may have been rattled – but it wasn't _that_ stupid. So when Squall ripped his blade free of the dead dragon's neck, glaring at it from across dozens of still-smoking strips of charred creeps, it did what _normally_ would have been the smartest thing it could have done in its life.

—ox-oxo-xo—

The Exeter came to his shoulder, smooth and steady; his cold eyes scrutinised the darkness ahead, searching for the approaching monster. "A little more light, Zena…"

The circle of light ahead of him expanded, and a hexadragon charged into view straight toward them, at a distance of sixty metres and closing fast. Irvine noticed in passing that it seemed to be seriously wounded, and also very panicked. More _bolting_ than charging, really. But what did he care? It was a dragon, and it was charging at them, and – he smirked – he _had_, after all, come down here to hunt dragons.

Hynedammit though, he _hated_ Fast Shot…

click_**BANG**_-click_**BANG**_-click_**BANG**_-click_**BANG**_-click_**BANG**_-click_**BANG**_-click_**BANG**_-click_**BANG**_—

And the gigantic mound of bleeding, perforated hexadragon dropped and slid to a halt, its shattered snout leaking blood onto the ground not a metre from his feet. After all, he was a professional sharpshooter – what was wrong with a little style?

—ox-oxo-xo—

Squall and Selphie were sprinting to catch up with the fleeing hexadragon (well, _Squall_ was – Selphie probably wasn't, having someone else to catch) when the staccato report of eight shots rang down the tunnel before them. They stopped, ears peeled to catch any further sign of combat.

Selphie cupped her hands round her mouth. "_**IRVY?**_"

A moment of silence. Then, "_**SEFIE!**_" And she went tearing off into the darkness, leaving him alone at last…_he wished_.

_On the other hand…_ He sent out an area-scan pulse, his silver eyes flashing gold for a moment…and he chuckled, his newly-silvered eyes crinkling with rare good humour. _It's been too long since I faced a worthy opponent!_

_But…_

Walking purposefully towards the happy reunion, his eyes flickered over all the pieces of the tactical puzzle.

"_Selphie Kinneas, nee Tilmitt. Close-ranged weapon, ineffective against the next enemy. Possesses only one magical attack which may prove effective, a Limit break achieved very rarely and usually by luck._" Another step, his eyes flickering to the tall man wearing, of all things, a wide-brimmed hat. His arms wrapped tightly round his wife, the reunited partners whispering various sweet nothings and ridiculous epithets to each other between sobbing kisses. "_Irvine Kinneas, elite sharpshooter. Powerful, highly accurate long-ranged weapon, variety of shot. Excellent asset for ending combat quickly._" He processed that information, moving on.

Another step, his eyes flickering to the pair of adolescents staring at Irvine and Selphie Kinneas. The boy's face was almost split in half by an ecstatic, immensely relieved grin. The girl's face mirrored his for a moment, before slipping into a pout as she glared at the happy couple. "_Zamal and Zena Sorbonne. Knight and sorceress, non-hostile, twins; aged 15. Both use close-ranged weapons, ineffective against the next enemy. Zena's power is potentially useful, but control and nerve are scant at present; Zamal is trained only in most basic of magics._" He looked closer at Zena Sorbonne's aura for a moment. "_Not as angry as she appears; represents no current threat to Irvine or Selphie Kinneas._" The young sorceress turned to look at him; he ignored this, his attention on more important matters.

His area-scan did not, in and of itself, reach far enough currently to analyse the rapidly approaching enemy ahead. But the pulse had returned enough information for his purposes, and had in turn shaped his perception of the others' analyses:

"_King Ruby, an ancient and extremely powerful ruby dragon, thrice the size of its common brethren. Eats fire; immune to all other elements. Non-elemental breath annihilates anything in its path, potentially lethal to a range of twenty metres; avoidable only by achieving temporary invincibility or by successful evasion. Like ruby dragons, can be temporarily distracted by use of 'reflect' status. Immune to all magic save 'meltdown' and The End. Armour is virtually impenetrable by conventional weapons; however, successful infliction of 'meltdown' status allows access to a hairline skull fracture received fifteen years ago at the hands of the last fighter to survive meeting King Ruby in combat. Barring use of The Lion, this is the only practical way to kill the enemy._"

In fact, more information than required; what did Squall care about someone who scored a hit on this monster fifteen years ago? Otherwise, the scan was stark in its simplicity, and its message.

He had three options:

_One._ Take the form of The Lion. The Lion had the best chance of killing King Ruby in a straight-out fight; it might take a while, but the massive dragon would have a certain difficulty manoeuvring in these close tunnels. All that would be required would be to avoid its first breath-attack, get onto its back, and use The Lion's claws to break into and sever the monster's spine.

Which was fine – right up to the point where The Lion turned around and attacked the humans; he had no illusions about his 'control' over the beast after bringing him forth less than an hour previously. At which point, he reasoned, it would either kill them all…or Irvine and Selphie would kill _him_. Neither outcome particularly appealed to the hunter.

_Two._ Attempt to eliminate the monster himself. That would be far trickier, though not impossible. Dodge the breath, jump onto the back, cast a 'meltdown', and then dance around for a while under its nose until he got a chance to exploit that weak spot.

However, that was a lot easier said than done. And he truly would have to fight alone; in such chaotic circumstances, only The End – presumably Selphie's rare Limit break, by inference – could prematurely end the fight. And she wouldn't abandon the others, and the others _would_ have to flee. (Squall's memory briefly flickered back, quite wistfully for him, to that flying…'pinnace' with its lethal long-range weaponry. But sadly, fleeing the dragon for several kilometres was simply out of the question. Dragons liked to chase, and tended even to abandon carrion in their indulgence. And this dragon was simply too close.)

Which left Option _Three_.

When it came down to it, what was important was simply that the monster was killed.

—ox-oxo-xo—

It felt like her heart was tearing in two, like her head was bursting…

Well, okay – that was exaggerating a little. But it still _hurt_…

Quite simply, there were too many thoughts and feelings tumbling about Zena's head to deal with all at once. An entire week, trapped down here, out of the sun where she belonged. An entire week, spent being chased by monsters which wanted to eat her, eating virtually nothing other than the butchered remains of those which failed. _An entire week_, trapped in a romantic situation with a charming and handsome (and kind) SeeD Instructor by the name of Irvine Kinneas. The man she'd thought she had fallen in love with; the man she'd wanted to be her knight-in-shining-armour.

_'The best ones are always taken.'_ That's what her best friend had said to her, when she confided her crush on the dashing Instructor Irvine nearly a year ago. It hadn't sunk in, though. Not until this moment. Irvine's arms wrapped around Selphie's tiny body… the young sorceress could _see_ the aura. She could _feel_ the…_rightness_ of their union – like she always imagined the romance of Squall the Lionheart and Rinoa the Angelwing. And it tasted…

No; not bitter. Bitter_sweet_, maybe. Irvine Kinneas was indeed a knight. And he was indeed taken. She couldn't believe it.

She couldn't believe she was so _happy_ for him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted her brother, with a big stupid grin on his big stupid face. Realising that she was grinning too, she quickly pasted on a scowl. She would be _damned_ if she wasn't going to enjoy some payback for her first heartbreak…

She caught her brother looking at her, grinning even wider.

Well, okay – it was pretty silly. Zena contented herself with a melodramatic sigh. She _supposed_ her stupid brother could fill in as her knight until she found someone better. Or she could get herself a man-harem of them…yes, she _liked_ that idea… A glint of silver in the darkness…

_…what the heck is THAT?_

A dark figure moved into the range of her softly burning firelight. There was something about that moving shadow… it repulsed, and yet…_tugged_ at her…

Moving purposefully closer to the light, it resolved itself into a man. Black boots, black trousers, black jacket with grey fur trim. Bare, tightly muscled chest, covered with horrific scars. Bloodstained gunblade. Massive mane of hair and straggly beard, obscuring most of his face; more scars where she can see… _his entire body is covered with them…!_ Quicksilver eyes— _Is he scanning us…? But…his eyes were silver when I first saw him! The scan spell _never_ lasts that long!_

Zamal suddenly spotted the object of her attention, stepping in front of her protectively. She shoved him out of the way, still staring at the nameless stranger.

_…Are his eyes like that naturally? Does he just keep scanning all the time? Or… can he actually do the Super-Scan spell…?_

Wait.

_…GUNBLADE?_

Zena Sorbonne's voice trembled, tinkled like a chandelier in an earthquake. "…Squall the Lionheart…?"

Zamal's jaw dropped; so did his weapon, sword clattering to the cold stone floor. Irvine's reaction was more composed, after the initial 'where did _he_ come from?' moment. Staring at the old comrade he could not have seen for nearly two decades, he whispered out the corner of his mouth. "Uh, Sefie…when exactly were you going to mention this guy?" She opened her mouth to answer—

The hero cut her off. He didn't even look at them, his glorious gaze in his rugged, scarred visage still intent on the passage behind them. "King Ruby…an ancient and extremely powerful ruby dragon, thrice the size of its common brethren. It will arrive within three minutes." He paused for a moment, to let that sink in.

Selphie's whisper was so quiet, she could barely hear it. "King Ruby… that's…the monster I saw…" She swallowed. "Alright! Let's GET it—!"

"I'm not done." Zena was treated to the sight of her own Headmistress speechless. It didn't happen much, by all acounts. _It must be his voice…such quiet power there…_ Deep and rumbling, it sent shivers up and down her spine… "Immune to all elements, and all magic save 'meltdown' and The End." His gaze swept for a moment to Selphie Kinneas. She twitched for some reason. _…What's 'The End'…?_ Zena wondered. "Non-elemental breath, lethal to _anything_, to a range of twenty metres. Scales are impervious to most weapons, unless 'meltdown' is used." Zena's breath hissed through her teeth. _Meltdowns can only be cast from less than twenty-five metres away,_ she remembered from her classes.

"Uhhh…" Zamal timorously raised his hand. "Do…we _really_ have to fight this…?"

"_You_ don't. But there is a way."

"Uhhh…" It was Selphie this time; she raised her hand too. Whether she was mocking Zamal, or just blown away by Squall the Lionheart's godlike radiance – Zena honestly couldn't tell which reason she preferred to believe… "You're not going to Limit-break are you? Because I'd _really_ hate to have to kill you…" She said it with a smile on her face, but even Zena could tell she was seriously threatening to kill him.

"No. Like all ruby dragons, King Ruby can be momentarily distracted by judicious use of the 'reflect' spell." So, just maybe, someone could get in close enough to cast a 'meltdown' spell, and get back to a relatively safe distance, before they were incinerated in the monster's breath-blast. The Doomtrain GF would make it so much easier…but the looks on the others' faces told her that they didn't.

She realised with a start that she was analysing the situation with cold and correct precision. She was about to go up against something worse than one of the most dangerous monster-species on the planet, and she was…calm and collected. (Well mostly – she couldn't help but wonder what his face really looked like under all that hair…but he was still talking. Focus!)

"More to the point…there is a weak spot, a hairline fracture of the skull, directly between its eyes. Once King Ruby has been inflicted with 'meltdown' to soften its facial scales, one perfect shot will kill it instantly."

"Hey, buddy. Or Squall, or whatever." Squall raised an eyebrow, eyeline still fixed on the approaching threat. "How in the hell do you know this?"

His wife started bouncing up and down in his arms. "HE cast an area-scan spell! He even made us a magic map! SEE?" Leaning back a little, she whipped out a small, gently glowing card, waving it about aimlessly. _…So he DOES know how to do it!_ "He even made a Mirror Stone so I could try it out! It's soooo cool!" For the briefest fraction of a second, Zena could swear that Squall rolled his eyes.

Irvine tilted his hat over his eyes, the better to perform a facepalm. "Not this again…" He straightened after a moment. "S'Alright. I'll take your word for it," he said simply, releasing his wife and fishing out a hunting scope.

Squall's eyes shifted to Selphie. "Can you 'reflect' me when the time comes?"

Selphie saluted him. "Right on!"

His gaze went to Zamal next. "Zamal Sorbonne: guard your sorceress."

Zamal saluted him too. Maybe he wasn't _completely_ stupid…

And now, last of all, he looked at _her_. Her heart flipped, blood rushing to her cheeks. "Zena Sorbonne." His lips seemed to caress her name like gloved fingers teased over her… _Focus!_ "Irvine Kinneas will need good light to make the shot. Can you hold a _firaga_ in place for one minute? Eighty metres down that shaft, near the ceiling?"

"Y-y-es Sir Squall!" Well, she _hoped_ so…

She heard Irvine mutter, "Oh thank Hyne…" and cringed, utterly mortified. But the Lionheart's gaze on her changed not one whit. He simply gifted her a solemn nod.

The hero turned back to his vigil – and, just for a moment, his eyes blazed like the sun. The magically sensitive sorceress could feel the backwash of that burst of refined power, and she _quivered…_

"Forty seconds. If you would, Zena Sorbonne?" He was walking away even as he spoke.

Unlike Irvine, Zena was not junctioned to a Guardian Force. Even the highest-ranking SeeDs were required to adhere to strict rules regarding their use, especially how long each could be equipped, following the revelations of long-term memory loss. One had to be a SeeD to even be allowed to train in how to junction with a GF. And despite the magical advances coming out of Esthar and the SeeD Gardens, most people remained unable to utilise more than the most basic of para-magics.

But she was a sorceress. And Squall the Lionheart was counting on her.

Pulling, shaping the power from within her, she condensed it, fed it into a single point, imagined hooking it onto a long fishing line like the one her father always liked to use. And then she cast it away, the ethereal 'line' feeding out after it. The point of energy fixed itself high near the ceiling…and burst into brilliant flame, Squall's receding shadow stretching out towards her for a moment before pulling away.

Now she just had to _hold_ that flame there…

—ox-oxo-xo—

At the outer edge of the _firaga_'s light, a whiff of smoke wavered against the black backdrop. And then that blackness coalesced into a form from legend, from the nightmares of small children.

King Ruby's dimly scaled carapace stretched almost from one wall to the other; its once glittering wings, now withered with disuse, folded back against its impossibly serpentine length. Its cat's-eye carborundum gaze, burning heavy with magic and malevolence and madness, flickered from side to side as it sought to identify its foolish enemies. In the distance, near the opposite edge of the aerial bonfire, the dragon noted with distant contempt the four tiny humans. Even combined they wouldn't suffice to make a decent snack, though the one with the rifle looked to provide some fleeting entertainment… It briefly contemplated just walking right over them to gorge itself on the dead dragon, its bloody aroma wafting invitingly down the tunnel to the massive predator.

Then that dreadful gaze lit upon the approaching figure of the hunter. The hunter with that _infuriatingly_ familiar sword.

King Ruby's bass roar, complete with a titanic flare of white-hot energy which left the stony ground bubbling and smoking in a long scar before it, reverberated through the passage; two of the distant humans flinched at the horrific aural assault.

The hunter flung his arms out to the side, the Lionheart held out in profile for the dragon to examine; he roared back. Pitiful, to say the least – nonetheless, in the churning depths of its black mind, King Ruby awarded the hunter a tiny smidgeon of honour. At least the little human was courteous enough to follow the rites of formal draconic challenge. When it triumphed, the dragon decided, it might even extend his carcass the honour of being eaten instead of just squashing it on its way through to its waiting meal.

That assumed, of course, that the dragon didn't simply incinerate the puny hunter with its first breath…

Squall and King Ruby began moving at the same moment. There was no semblance of subtlety at first; each just charged at the other. Squall's Lionheart began to glisten with a sickly pink glow, the internal colour of a mutilated eyeball crawling over the mottled adamantine; King Ruby's slavering jaws began to shimmer with a rising magnesium shriek of actinic fury.

The range cut down within seconds. A hundred metres. Eighty. Sixty. Forty.

At thirty metres, Selphie's distantly cast 'reflect' spell suddenly shimmered like a bubble around the hunter. The dragon king's drool flayed out the corners of its terrible maw like white-hot lava, bleeding off excess heat as King Ruby almost instantly executed its own 'reflect' spell to counteract his sudden change of tactic.

_Almost_ instantly. The range was down to just under twenty-five metres when he cast his 'meltdown' spell…upon himself.

Rebounding from the hunter's insubstantial shield, streaming towards its true target like a horizontal waterfall, the blast of malignant energy impacted directly onto the rapidly-closing snout of the raging beast. The intricate interlocking scales around its upper skull were left bearing an unhealthy fleshy tinge, a sign of its sudden vulnerability. King Ruby decided at this point simply to stampede the impudent little nuisance just ten metres before him, putting on an extra burst of speed…

Squall, on the other hand, skidded to a halt. He took one small, quick step to the left…and from behind him echoed a distinctive report: the blast of a single shell of Demolition Shot, spiralling forth with a belch of smoke and burning fragments of high explosive from the barrel of Irvine Kinneas's Exeter.

—ox-oxo-xo—

The tunnel was plunged into sudden, heartstopping darkness. Zena's hopeful estimate of how long she could hold the firaga in place had in the end been slightly optimistic. But it had lasted for 57 seconds – _just_ long enough for Irvine to get off the shot, and see the enormous dragon begin to stumble, the ominous energy emanating from its maw winking out like a snuffed light.

The mine's floor trembled under their feet with the impact of the dragon's fall, and kept shaking as its rubyclad corpse slid on for long seconds, simple inertia rendering it unstoppable by anything as inconsequential as the fact that the dragon's brain had stopped…

Panting with exhaustion and sudden terror, vainly staring down the inky passage in the eventual silence, Zena suddenly realised that she was being held upright by her brother. He didn't let go when she attempted to pull free either…which was probably a _good_ thing for once, given the way her knees attempted to bend backwards when she tried it.

It was Irvine, in the end, who relit the firelight spell. And…

Just ten metres from their party of four, the King Ruby was slumped before them, dead. It looked surprisingly pristine, really quite beautiful in death; only the blank, glazing eyes betrayed the lie of dormant life…that, and the two wounds marring its crown.

One was a simple puncture directly between its eyes, just a couple of centimetres wide – noticeable more for the blood-tinged grey ichor which slowly ran from the manifestly fatal gunshot wound. But her eyes were drawn to the other wound: a gunblade, sunk virtually to the hilt perhaps a handspan above the smaller wound.

Of _course_ Squall the Lionheart hadn't been crushed to paste under the dragon's fall. In fact he was crouched atop the dragon's head, gloved hands wrapped around two vestigial horns which protruded from the points of King Ruby's armoured eyebrow ridges. He looked quite pleased, insofar as she could divine from his largely obscured expression. A tidal wave of relief washed through her, making her knees even more rubbery.

To her right, Irvine stood up from his own sniper's crouch. "Well, whaddaya know… Whole thing went off without a hitch. Pleasant change o' pace, that…"

Selphie straightened, stretching. "Nice shot, Irvy!" She bounced up to plant a quick kiss on his smooth cheek, then looked over to the young sorceress. "57 seconds – you did well, Miss Sorbonne. I might even _forgive_ you for spending the past week trying to seduce my husband…"

Even five minutes ago, such words would have made her cringe, or brought resentment. But everything had changed for her in five minutes – and besides, she was still feeling a little giddy. So she shrugged, and grinned, "Well, what _else_ was I gonna do for entertainment down here? Pick on my brother?" She poked Zamal in the ribs; flinching, he almost dropped her. "That gets so _boring_…" The Headmistress chuckled at this sally.

Meanwhile, Squall the Lionheart had extricated his gunblade, with some difficulty, from the deceased dragon's skull. He looked over at the lanky Instructor. "It was your kill… do you wish to claim the head?"

Irvine blinked. "…Yes please?" Squall shrugged minutely, backing away a few steps onto its neck. The edge of his Lionheart began to pulse with an eldritch yellow glow. As he swung at the massive trunk below him, that glow hissed and snapped out like a cat's claw; the blade's ethereal extension not only cleanly decapitated the dragon's neck, but carved a deep furrow into the hard ground below it. The job done, the hero proceeded to walk down its face, stepping off the end of its snout to land with lazy grace onto the passage floor.

"So…" Zamal spoke, "…Headmistress Selphie?"

"Yes, uh…Zamal wasn't it?"

"Um…" He scratched his head, with the hand attached to the arm that wasn't still wrapped around her waist. "So…we killed, like, a whole bunch of dragons down here, but…we've just collected the one head…" Irvine laughed, walking over to affix the magicked braille-code strip which would allow the skulls to be stored in the party's inventory without the mass issues. "So…uhh…"

Selphie rolled her eyes. "Well, since it IS three times the size of a normal dragon's head… I _suppose_ I'll count it as three heads." She shook her head sorrowfully. "All THAT over a few thousand gil…huh?"

They all turned to look at the Headmistress's sudden focus of attention. The remains of King Ruby must've had _some_ magic left to them, because the rest of its body was slowly sinking into the earth as if it lay atop some tarry bog. Which, in some ways, was a blessing: rooting around in a carcass the size of a small _house_ for loot would have been an incredibly messy and time-consuming exercise which she had no interest at all in watching. In the meantime, freeing herself from Zamal's clutches, she nervously wobbled over to the dark-clad hunter. "Uhhh… e-excuse me, Sir Squall?"

He spared her a brief glance, watching the gradually disappearing dragon.

She took a deep breath, trying to make her voice at least steady. Sadly, 'seductive' was simply _way_ beyond her at this point… "That… 'area'-scan spell you were doing… how do you do that…? I've been trying to work it out for days now…"

He considered for a long moment; she was peripherally aware of Selphie drawing closer to see if there would be an answer, but she paid no attention.

"…Scan." He raised a gloved hand, his finger and thumb held close together, almost touching. She nodded; a scan was a fixed-focussed spell, of course it was, that was the problem. "Shield." Straightening the hand, he waved it in an arc in front of him, palm inward. _Palm _in_ward?_ Well okay, the shield spells – 'protect', 'shell' and 'reflect' – each projected a magical bubble, with the spell's target at its centre… "Scan." And he repeated the hand-waving motion.

"…But that's what I've been trying to work out how to _do_!" She flinched – here she was, whining to the great Squall Leonhart because she couldn't do some spell! "U-Uhh—I mean…"

"You're a sorceress. Stop thinking about it, and just _do_ it." And he walked over to examine the several small piles of loot which the vanished dragon had left behind.

"Only…" Selphie whispered, "don't do it down here. It's, like _really_ vivid, you have to get used to it…" She dashed forward to look at the loot too.

Well…either way, she probably _should_ stop thinking about it. Zena drifted over, curious to see what had been left over.

And really, there was a lot of it – more than most monsters tended to drop. Little energy crystals, stacked in small heaps everywhere; Irvine had wandered over too, and exclaimed happily as he picked up a handful. "Oh, _cool_! I can always use more Pulse Ammo…" A few fury fragments, which Selphie informed her would translate with the right GF's abilities into _aura_ magic, and were good for upgrading certain weapons besides. Squall picked up one of a fair number of Ultima Stones, using it as an impromptu whetstone for some reason – she had no clue why he was doing it, but she could feel the stone's stored magic doing _something_ to the blade… Bending over, Zamal came up holding a single card.

"Instructor Irvine? Have you ever seen this card?"

"Hey, no I haven't! That's a pretty rare one! What is that, Level Seven?"

But there was something else, something that seemed to be _calling_ for her attention. She stepped forward, trying to identify the strange siren's call…

…And something scratched against the ground under her foot. She picked it up.

"Uhhh…" She gaped at the small, intricately adorned object which sat in her hand. "…You're not going to believe this…"

Zamal, Irvine and Selphie gathered around them, staring wonderingly at her find.

"That's one cool ring…" Zamal murmured. "…Is that a monster on it?"

"You're right Zena…" Irvine croaked. "I _don't_ believe it…"

Selphie straightened. "So I WAS right!" The Trabian Headmistress whirled round to point at Squall, who was still gliding the Ultima Stone along the edge of his gunblade with utter disregard for the others. "King Ruby WAS the same dragon you fought fifteen years ago! We thought it killed you! THAT'S where you got those great big scars on your chest!"

He looked up for a moment…and shrugged.

Irvine's whisper cut across the silence. "…Not even a 'whatever'…?" His eyes were moist, stricken; Zena was astonished. "Oh shit Squall… what the hell's happened to you…? Don't you remember…like, _anything?_"

He shrugged again, not even bothering to look up from his blade.

"The tiniest of pieces…" Selphie answered in his stead. "A while after I told him my name was Selphie Kinneas, he asked me if the word 'Tilmitt' meant anything to me… We weren't married the last time he saw us…" Her lips quirked in a bittersweet twist. "He doesn't even remember his own _name_…and he remembered the teensiest little bit of mine…"

"Well, the memory loss can't be _that_ total…" Zamal muttered. "I mean, he still knows how to talk. And—" he darted a look over at his sister, "—he still seems to know something about how sorceresses work."

Irvine, regathering himself, rejoined, "That don't really mean much, Zamal. Ever since we thought he died, we've heard little stories about him popping up sometimes, all over the place. You know, doing those Squall-type things – killing dangerous monsters, finding lost children, all that jazz – and apparently one of those children was a sorceress. But we just thought they were rumours. After all, we thought he was dead…"

"Uh… why did you think—"

"It's classified. Some things, kids, you're just not ready for."

"So…" Zena swallowed. "I'm right. This is _his_ ring." Irvine and Selphie nodded confirmation. "Well…we should give it back to him, then."

She walked over, the ring on her palm. Squall looked up for a moment, discarding the remains of the depleted whetstone.

"Uhm… this is yours."

"Irvine Kinneas killed the monster. It's his loot."

"I-I mean…it _was_ yours, it's meant to _be_ yours. Like that gunblade…like that jacket with the furry collar…like that scar on your forehead." She blushed; she hadn't actually seen that yet, after all… "It's just…_yours_."

His gaze fell on the ring. He slowly reached over, carefully picking his lost ring out of her right hand with his left. He stared at it, face expressionless, somehow…empty.

The Lionheart dropped from his hand, forgotten. The platinum lion was engulfed in his gloved fist.

"Griever…"

And Squall the Lionheart dropped, like a puppet whose strings had just been cut, at Zena's feet.

—ox-oxo-xo—

The silence was palpable, absolute. It could have been cut with a knife. Wife and husband and twin siblings stared down at the prone form of the hero of the Second Sorceress War. He lay there in what would have been a most uncomfortable position, had he been conscious, or even only mildly unconscious. The only part of his body which maintained any sense of co-ordination was his left hand. _That_ was still holding tightly onto the ring which had just been returned to him. The ring which the amnesiac commander had named…and remembered correctly.

A number of appropriate responses flashed through Selphie's mind. 'Maybe we should've given it to him later…'? _No, Zena looks devastated enough already…_ 'Oh great, more stuff to carry…'? _Tempting, but…_ (An image flashed through her mind: Squall, walking the entire way from Fisherman's Horizon to Esthar City, with Rinoa on his back. It had taken an entire day and night.) _And besides…_ (Another image, though this one was entirely of her own devising: a old, nameless hunter, walking over rugged and treacherous terrain, with _Selphie_ over his shoulder. And he'd _loved_ Rinoa; he'd had no real motivation to go to all that effort for _her_…) It just seemed disloyal for some reason…and besides, if wasn't as if the guys couldn't carry him.

Okay, how about…

"…Well, at least he won't get away from us now…"

Yeah, that would do.

Behind her eyes, there was another silence, one she had only just noticed; one which was all the more poignant for the fact that it was the first since she'd first saw Squall down at the bottom of the mineshaft. The Tonberry had fallen silent at last.

* * *

A/N Postscript:

So...yeah, long chapter. It'll be two or three weeks before I post the next few chapters - the next one's giving me gyp. Which is slightly ironic, as I've pretty much got everything else in the bag at this point. At this point, it'll probably go to 12 chapters total, maybe with an epilogue. (Oh, and the tragedy won't really start kicking in until Chapter 11...probably.)

Anyway...review if you please...


	10. Devour

**Chapter 10 - Devour**

A/N: Right…for a couple of reasons, it took a while to get back to updating this. A goodly part of it was that I was viciously assaulted by an FFVII plot-bunny, and was forced to purge the damned thing by writing it as a Valentine's Day special. As for the other reason (at least, the _main_ other reason)… I have to say, this chapter was a cast-iron _bitch_ to write. In many respects, I'm still unsatisfied with it; as such, it may be reworked in a relatively heavy fashion once I'm done.

Note: _:Blahblahblah.:_ denotes non-verbal communication. I got the idea from the author Mercedes Lackey's various works.

* * *

"Ok Raijin, now we need to land…"

"Got it, ya know?" Smoothly, almost seamlessly, Raijin began to adjust the flight controls, the _Ragnorak_ pinnace gliding downward with lazy grace.

With the repeated shuttling of personnel and supplies between Trabia Garden's position and the makeshift landing pad which was the closest an airship could alight near the recently discovered mineshaft, Raijin's repeated and enthusiastic requests to have a go at flying the pinnace had finally been granted… And to Nida's initial surprise, the musclebound fool actually took to the complex flight controls like a duck to water.

When he'd thought about it later, Nida had to admit that it actually made a certain amount of sense. Raijin Kazeno, he'd learned over the years, remained unrepentantly stupid in most areas…but could prove extremely knowledgeable regarding that which _truly_ interested him. Then he would take the effort to learn every rule, internalise the most minute detail concerning that subject. For instance, his interest in the quarterstaff as a weapon had matured into a skill with the pole which was unparalleled anywhere in the world – and his more recent interest in teaching, combined with that skill, had made him independently wealthy. So Raijin had watched Nida's – and Selphie's – swift and sure actions like a hawk, and asked question after stupid question, and…well, he _remembered_ it all. Probably he'd have trouble with pulling the more complex manoeuvres, but he could already do anything routine with minimal stress to all involved.

Which was probably a _very_ good thing, given what had just come into view below them. Nida had to be available, to restrain his wife if she blew up at the sight of the hunter. After all, Fujin had taken a distinct dislike to the man who looked so much like the former SeeD commander, maybe even before Pandemona's reaction had sunk in. (And the hunter's reaction to her truncation of his fight hadn't helped either…) His small, furtive smirk at the thought widened into a true smile at the sight below.

Irvine Kinneas was the first to emerge onto the lip of the precipice over the mineshaft, wearily stretching. Selphie followed, tucking herself under his arm. Then, the two members of Irvine's party; they looked to be alright, though the girl seemed to be distraught and the pair seemed to be holding each other upright. Nida heaved a sigh of relief; all three of the lost Trabians seemed to be safe, along with their Headmistress. And then…

The hunter came into view – borne on a stretcher.

There was a blur of movement to his right – and Fujin was standing beside him, glaring down upon the scene. Her chakra gripped in a white-knuckled hand… which suddenly relaxed.

If Pandemona had ceased its internal harangue… _He must be dead, then._ And then his gaze rose to her face.

Her mouth, which had fixed into an increasingly flat line over the hours since she'd first laid eyes on the inert hunter below them, was hanging open and slack. The rage – and the fear which lurked beneath – had dissipated instantly, without a trace. To be replaced by something…unfamiliar to him…?

He leaned over, head brushing against the crystalline window, to get a better look at her right side, at her eye. Fujin had never been one for great emotional displays, other than through her voice. But her feelings usually shone through that sole crimson orb, for those who took the time to learn.

Nida saw, first and foremost, shock. With undertones of relief – which at least fit the 'he's dead' theory; she'd truly been spooked by Pandemona's reaction to the hunter. But under that…

"SQUALL…"

…Was she…_awestruck…_? "Fujin, what is it?"

Her hand left the chakra, to settle unerringly on his own. "PANDEMONA…SEES…" And she turned round to head back to her console, her lovely face a mystery.

"What the…?"

—ox-oxo-xo—

_Thick, clinging, impenetrable darkness. There was nothing here. Nothing save himself… and The Lion._

_Sweat ran down his face and torso in rivulets, his gunblade whistling with the speed of its frantic passage of desperate blocks and attacking moves. He spared no thought for the surreality of his tenebrous surroundings, of his fight. Had he done so, he would have been unable to ignore the sheer illogic of his current straits._

_His gunblade, fending away The Lion's claws and teeth and tail without blunting. His item stocks, which would have long been depleted were such a fight to be conducted in the real world. The several mortal wounds which he had sustained – which had faded to nothing, simply because, like all the other irrelevant discrepancies of this place (sight without light, gravity without ground, so on so forth), he had simply ignored them to continue in his fight._

_The only point of incongruity on which he allowed himself to focus, was the fact that despite his own lethal blows, The Lion just WOULD. NOT. DIE…_

—ox-oxo-xo—

Quistis shot forward in her seat. "…And he has the ring now?"

Selphie ran a hand through her still-damp hair. _Damn, showers are good…Irvine would be better though…_ Irvine, regrettably, was utterly exhausted after sleeping for so little over the past week; she'd reluctantly left him to eat, clean up and sleep at his own pace. At least _he_ had the luxury of doing so; Selphie had barely given herself the time to scrub herself clean before stepping out to do battle with the bespectacled former SeeD. "Yeah… We tried to get the thing out of his hand, but it's like it's welded shut…"

The scientist breathed out, relaxing a little for the first time since Selphie had presented her glowering visage in person. "It's a good thing you couldn't. I don't even want to _think_ about what might have happened if you'd succeeded."

Selphie blinked, letting her fury over her old friend's behaviour simmer down to an ember of itself. She knew Quistis must have had a good reason to piss her off so much.

When she returned to Trabia Garden, she'd expected at least a _little_ celebration. After all, Irvy and the kids were alright. She'd expected Ellone and Quisty, and maybe Zell and Matron, there to welcome them back. But _no_ – when they got back, she was confronted with a wave of SeeDs. Not celebrating. Taking Squall into custody. They'd politely ignored her orders to take him to the infirmary. They'd completely ignored their own Headmistress; except for one _very_ low-ranked SeeD, who'd probably been ordered to perform this onerous duty simply because there was no-one of lower rank who _he_ could order to do it, who handed her a short note before running for his life.

Quistis had unilaterally usurped her authority, using some arcane regulation from SeeD's early days which had never been repealed. (Ellone had greeted her with a quick hug, before being dragged off by _Fujin_, of all people.) And Selphie was _pissed_… Merely the thought of it all brought her rage back to the boil.

Zell roused. Over the years, he at least seemed to have finally mastered the art of laying low when animosity was in the air. "What do you mean? It's just his ring isn't it?"

Quistis frowned, hopefully wondering how to leave the room alive.

The comatose hunter rested two rooms over…in the brig. In the room between this one and his relocated (and heavily strapped, not to mention _shackled_) infirmary bed, no less than a dozen SeeD combat specialists stood guard – weapons drawn, and practically blazing with high-level defensive spells. More were stationed in adjoining rooms, in case Squall somehow punched his way through a steel-enforced concrete _wall_ to attempt escape. Commander Seifer Almasy himself stood vigil in Squall's holding-cum-infirmary cell, his own gunblade drawn, and heavily junctioned.

But then, she realised, Squall's Limit form might well actually be _able_ to smash down some walls… No, if Quisty had done this, there _had_ to be a good reason for it. She chanted it like a silent mantra, hoping it would restrain her from doing something oh-so-horrifically _satisfying_ to the former instructor.

"If it ever was, it's not any more…" Quistis marshalled her thoughts. "'The Lion' – that's what you called it, Selphie?"

"That's what the 'scan' said…" she muttered.

"The Lion is not truly a Limit break. As you suspected at the time, my research leads me to believe that it's actually a Guardian Force. A GF which is unknown to us. A GF which manifests in our world, by _transforming_ the summoner." Selphie wouldn't have reigned as Headmistress of Trabia Garden for twenty-three years if she were stupid; her furious gaze dropped, relaxing into a more contemplative mien. "I've done a lot of research over the years, into the GFs. Now, what happens when a GF's host is killed?"

Selphie and Zell shrugged.

Zell's _wife_, however, cleared her throat. "I believe your first thesis stated that the GF would usually abandon the host's mind and return to the dimension in which their spiritual essence dwells, eventually finding another mind in which to reside." The three ex-SeeDs stared at the matronly mostly-housewife. "I _am_ a librarian. I _do_ read."

Quistis smiled, "Well done. That was a pretty obscure thesis – I'm surprised you found it."

Mary Dincht shrugged, "Well, one of my colleagues was a Trepie. She tracked it down. It was really pretty interesting."

"Thank you…" Quistis looked around at the others. "The problem now, is that 'The Lion' _isn't_ just residing in Squall's mind – it's possessing his body in the form of a Limit break. That is, when he's close to death. Now, what happens when Squall dies – and the GF doesn't _want_ to leave?"

—ox-oxo-xo—

Zena straightened in her chair for a moment, sighing with satisfaction; the edge of her hunger had finally been blunted. Not that she was done, far from it. She leant back over her bowl, wielding her spoon with renewed enthusiasm. Next to her, Zamal had not even reached that stage yet, still shovelling Mrs. Moogle's Cake into his ravenous maw with single-minded determination.

_Pig…_ Then it happened to cross her mind that several times during their sojourn in the mine, her brother had quietly handed a sizeable portion of his rations to her, claiming he couldn't stomach them. It had never occurred to her before that he'd been lying. She probably should've realised; after all, Instructor Irvine hadn't stopped him from doing it after the first time it had happened. The silly idiot had actually been starving himself!

She spared him a smile, and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, never pausing in the demolition of his dessert. She returned to her own bowl, her mind beginning to work once again on assimilating all that had happened over the past week. In several respects, it wasn't easy – and probably wouldn't have been even if she wasn't exhausted to begin with.

Zena's infatuation with the handsome Instructor had lessened, though she thought it might linger for a long while. Most likely, she figured, because she had simply given up on her hopes of ever getting him – unlike the several others who still nurtured their crushes. She smirked at the knot of sighing girls surrounding Instructor Kinneas and his own meal, thanking her lucky stars that she no longer counted herself among their number. (Not that she ever had before. She'd always thought herself more deserving of his attentions then the rest. Then again, so had they…) No, Zena knew now just how much he doted on his wife. Fixing her feelings upon Irvine had been nothing more than wishful thinking.

Besides, she thought she might prefer him as a father-figure – after all, he'd given her some good advice, when she took the time to think about it. (Zena made a mental note to get back in touch with her actual parents; she _supposed_ she should go about trying to forgive them…) The jarring ring of her spoon scraping the bottom of her empty bowl brought her back to reality for a moment; she pushed it aside, looking up at last at the three other sorceresses resident at Trabia Garden, sitting across from her. Zena wondered for a moment if they'd been saying anything, or if they'd just been waiting for her to finish.

She knew what they were there for. All were older than her (though not by _that_ much, the oldest was in her late twenties), all had their own guardians – but all of them shared her fascination with the starring players of the ultimate tale of sorceress-knight romance.

"So…did you _really_ find Squall the Lionheart?"

A dreamy smile spread across her face, just for a moment, before _that_ reality crashed down on her again. "Yeah… He doesn't remember anything, though. He's just…"

The three sorceresses shot forward, spouting a flurry of questions. Zena tried to answer them – what he looked like, how she met him, what cool things did he do, what he said, so on, so forth – even as she attempted to deal with what seemed the greatest of her past week's tribulations.

Now that she actually thought of it, Squall hadn't looked particularly _handsome_… The multitude of scars, that hideous beard, the tattered clothes, that big scruffy mop of hair… Why _was_ she so attracted to him? And not just like the others, who simply loved the story of Squall the Lionheart? Something had drawn her to the dishevelled old hunter like a moth to a flame…something inside _her_…

One of the girls snapped her fingers in Zena's face, bringing her back to reality again. She was beginning to hate reality… "_What_ was that about a new spell?"

She blinked. And suddenly smiled, and gripped her brother's hand. And, with a deep breath, drew on the sorceress power…

Squall had been right! _Stop thinking about it, and just _do_ it!_

…Of course, Headmistress Selphie had been right too. With so many people around the cafeteria, with so much information suddenly clamouring for her attention at once, she was rapidly becoming queasy. Swallowing, she felt the grip on her hand tighten. Her gaze swung up, through the surrounding haze of translucent magic, to meet Zamal's own mirror-like gaze; it seemed that she'd cast the spell on him, too—

Time stopped. Or at least, it stopped mattering, gently disconnecting the sorceress and her knight from the mundane universe around them without ceremony or notice. The inner voice which had so eagerly tried to narrate dozens of different people and objects the moment she'd laid eyes on them…dwindled to silence.

The sensation was, quite simply, beyond words.

He _did_ love her. He really _did_. And in that moment, she couldn't even bring herself to be embarrassed about it.

Eventually, the pair separated. Not _fully_, no, never fully. Enough, though, to reclaim their individual senses. Zamal's eyes were shimmering, not just from her spell, but from unshed tears. "…You did it. The super-scan…" And they traded tremulous, awestruck smiles. Then they started to take notice of their surroundings once more.

Around them, the world had frozen. Not like before – just into a mundane tableau of shock. Her sorceress compatriots were gaping, their jaws hanging forgotten. The students ringing Irvine had whirled round to stare at the spectacle, eyes popping. Various SeeDs and other students were groping absentmindedly at where their weapons would have been if they weren't in a weapons-free zone. Even Irvine whipped off his stetson, his eyebrows raised as high as they could go.

And they were _all_ looking at—

"Uh…Zena?"

"…Yeah, Zamal?"

"…Why is everyone…looking at me…?"

The young sorceress turned to look at her knight, careful not to drown in his gentle, glorious (and slightly panicking) eyes this time. Then up.

"Uh…Zamal?"

"…Yeah, Zena?"

"Uh… There's a…you've got a…" She took another breath. In all of history, over all the hundreds of sorceresses and their knights, going back hundreds of years, there was but _one time_ this had ever happened before… "…A _halo_…?"

Her brother blinked…and shrugged. The 'halo' (which to her eyes was more of a blazing aura the colour of sunlight on clean snow, wreathing his shoulders and making his head look like there was a gigantic candle burning directly behind him) shrugged with him. "…If you say so...? Your wings are out, by the way…" She looked over her shoulder. _So they are…_ Though they faded into invisibility even as she watched; Zamal's halo faded back to something which only she could see, and only because the 'area-scan' spell, as Squall had called it, remained active. Their impromptu audience took a collective breath.

"What…how…?"

She looked across the table to the stunned sorceress which had spoken, almost instinctively tuning out the spell-guide which tried to enlighten her as to the sorceress's current emotional state. "Oh…um, it's the spell Squall showed us. It's like a scan spell, only it scans everything around you instead of just one thing. And it can do other stuff too! Like…"

"…Zena." There was something…something in the way her brother spoke to her. It demanded attention, and _now_. He was staring at…the far wall? _No, _her own scan-voice informed her,_ further, behind and above the wall…_ She followed suit…

"…I see it."

And Zena and Zamal stood, their chairs toppling as they sprinted for the exit.

—ox-oxo-xo—

_"…Can you confirm this?" Gilgamesh asked, the fingers of his four hands drumming uncertainly upon their hilts._

_Phoenix flapped its magnificent wings. _:I am uncertain. I have not had to revive him for a long time. He calls upon me only to fight. My link to him may be too weak.:

_"Eden, what think you?" They looked down._

_Below them, the massive bulk of the Guardian Force pulsed, _:**He must be bound. If he is not, then his journey must be ended. Before it is too late.**:

_"Kupo-po?" Perched atop Boko's broad yellow back, the tiny moogle darted a concerned glance up at the humanoid swordswielder._

_"If he is not strong enough… Dare we chance this forgetful mortal's resolve? And will his comrades have the power?"_

_"Kweh!" Boko jumped exuberantly, almost dislodging Mog._

_Gilgamesh shrugged two of his shoulders, laying hand to the hilt of a sword. "Well, he'll eat Zantetsuken if they fail."_

:**Let them attempt it; we will assist. We **_**must**_**. Convey it to your host.**:

:I will try to assist with the initial link. I can do that much…:_ the firebird added._

_The lilac-sparkling mote to which they spoke began to dwindle in brilliance. "I will."_

"…THEY WILL HELP." Taking a deep breath, her grip on Nida's hand tightening, Fujin looked up into Ellone's waiting gaze. "PHOENIX, GILGAMESH, EDEN."

"_Eden?_" Nida gaped at her. "We lost Eden, didn't we?"

"EDEN." Fujin knew the GF histories as well as Nida, and he was correct. Eden had departed without ceremony, following SeeD's victory over Sorceress Ultimecia; the titanic Guardian Force had manoeuvred itself in a position to join Squall's party in the first place for the sole reason of aiding in the defeat of the powerful sorceress. For the single most powerful GF in the world to offer its aid once more was in itself an ominous sign. But she would trust Pandemona with her life…which indeed she was doing. "FOR THIS ONLY."

Ellone took her other hand, hope and guilt warring in her eyes. "Are you _sure_ you want to do this? It might not work. And I don't know how dangerous it'll be…"

_More than you know…_ Of all of them, she best knew the stakes; she didn't think she had it in her to explain the sheer _danger_ of what she planned – let alone the most likely final result. But… She had her own debts to pay to the man who had once, ever so briefly, been her commander. And Pandemona had asked it of her. She nodded.

Footsteps pounded towards the office. Two students appeared in the doorway, breathing hard, hand in hand. She squinted at them. _Oh, the ones we rescued…_ The male was staring, rather puzzled, at Ellone. The female, on the other hand, was staring at _her_. Fujin's gaze began to heat…

"You'll need us." Zena Sorbonne tried gulping air; Fujin noticed that her eyes were glowing silver.

Zamal Sorbonne, who was breathing a little easier, remembered his manners. "…Sorry for interrupting. We don't really know what you're doing…" And so were _his_ eyes. Pandemona shifted, paying the pair closer attention. "…But you don't have the power to do it."

Zena nodded, straightening. "But _we_ do."

Ellone and Nida blinked, darting looks at each other and Fujin. (Meanwhile, Irvine came to a gasping halt behind the sorceress and knight.)

_:…Perfect!:_

Whatever they were getting at, Pandemona suddenly relaxed in her mind's eye, far more sanguine about their collective chances.

"…AFFIRMATIVE."

—ox-oxo-xo—

"Alright, I get why you called us in. But what's so damn important about Squall's ring?" Zell's query carried clearly through the open door, past the dozen SeeDs, into the brig. Seifer winced; even after over three decades, something about Chicken-wuss's voice still pissed him off.

Seifer Almasy tuned out Trepe's response. It wasn't like he particularly cared. All he really needed to know was: _if Squall turns into a giant monster, kill him dead_.

How he felt about that… well, he didn't really have an opinion. For all the monstrous things Seifer himself had done under Ultimecia's command, he hadn't actually turned into a flesh-and-blood monster. As such, he figured, Squall – or whoever it was, under all those scars and all that hair – was shit out of luck if he turned into a giant monster and then asked him for mercy. (His actual _feelings_ on the matter...were something he recognised would be more appropriately examined later.) In any case, he'd noticed over the years, giant monsters tended not to ask for mercy in the first place. Like, ever. So, _kill the giant monster_ was good enough for him.

So to tune out Chicken and the others, his thoughts drifted over the various women he could persuade to spend some quality time with him when he had the chance. _Hmm…_ His eyes drifted to his left, through the door; one of the SeeD guards was looking at him. _Hmm…_ Long blonde hair, dancing blue eyes, cute face, maybe mid-20's… His gaze flickered over her figure, not too obviously in case she took offence, though he didn't think she would (a few decades of practice and experience helped enormously in that respect). And indeed, the svelte blonde took that moment to stretch her legs a little, her dress skirt innocuously riding up to offer a little something extra for his subtle, knowing scrutiny.

Seifer's eyes flickered back over to Squall's heavily restrained form, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards a little. _Think I'll follow that one up later…_ She actually kind of looked like Quistis, come to think of it. _…Wonder if I can find a spare whip somewhere…_ Then he noted a flash of motion past the prone hunter, and all amorous thoughts fled his mind.

Given the White SeeD deputy's chequered past as a knight for Sorceress Ultimecia, Seifer had suffered more than his share of nightmares. The things he had done, the things he'd ordered done, the things done to him. (The missile attack on Trabia Garden. The assault on Balamb Garden. The invasion of Esthar. Torturing Squall, feeding Rinoa to Adel. Repeated, disgustingly kinky sex acts performed at Matron's behest – those memories were actually some of the worst, and thank Hyne she didn't seem to remember any of _that_…) Well, the form which materialised across from Squall's bed was not a _major_ nightmare, but certainly had a starring role in a few of them…

Hyperion snapped up, aimed squarely at the cloaked apparition. "_You…_"

Gilgamesh looked him up and down, his shoulders shaking in a silent chuckle. "Stay your blade, mortal. I have not come for you."

One of his hands reached down to a _very_ familiar hilt. Seifer snapped to combat stance, gunblade in his left hand still pointed directly at the GF's broad chest.

Cerulean eyes in that grey, hideous face seemed to widen for a moment. "…Ah! Odin's killer, are you not?" This time his laugh was louder, like a dry whetstone scraped across a jagged blade's edge.

"Don't you fucking _dare_! If anyone's killing him, _it's me…_" he spat.

Gilgamesh looked at him for a moment, before returning to his vigil over the hunter. "You would fail. Mortal, this is beyond your ken. His fate rests in his own hands, and those of others." The GF's head cocked, listening for a moment. "You should leave this place."

Seifer just raised an eyebrow.

The swordswielder performed a complex shrug. "In that case, Odin's Killer, you should junction yourself to absorb fire, or you will surely die." And the GF proceeded to otherwise ignore him, his attention returning to the old hunter shackled between them.

Still staring suspiciously at Gilgamesh, he complied. _What the hell is going on…?_

—ox-oxo-xo—

"…Remember the final battle against Ultimecia?"

Selphie and Zell shuddered in unison. That would _never_ be a pleasant memory, for any of them.

"…Remember when she summoned Griever?"

If anything, Selphie shuddered worse. Yesterday's dream – _oh crap, was that just __**yesterday**__?_ – flared through the depths of her mind like an ill-healed scar… "Hey YEAH!" The others spun to give her puzzled looks. "Nah, it's not about that… It's just, I was carrying Tonberry around the past week. And, whenever he saw Squall he went _ballistic_! He only shut up when Squall passed out…" And on the ship, Irvine said that his GFs had panicked just as badly when he saw the hunter… "What's with that?"

Quistis leaned forward slowly, her tone careful. "They calmed down when he passed out…?" And her hands slipped over her face, index and middle fingers tiredly massaging the corners of her eyes under the spectacles. "That confirms it. It's a proto-GF."

"…A what?"

Quistis straightened, her gaze faraway. "Something which _will be_ a GF, but _isn't_ just yet." She took a breath. "After that battle, after we got back to Garden… I took a look at Squall's ring. And it _did_ hold some sort of power… I wasn't sure whether there had actually been a GF on it, a GF which Ultimecia had drawn to summon…or if it was something else. That was why I left for Esthar, to research the possibility. But—"

Seifer's raised voice, muffled from within Squall's cell, cut them off. "If anyone's killing him, it's _me_..."

Zell started. "…Seifer…? …Who's he talki—"

One of the SeeDs, a tall blonde, whirled around to shout at the Headmistress and the woman who had temporarily usurped her position. "It's _Gilgamesh_! He's in there!" All four of them shot to their feet, scrabbling for their weapons.

And then things got _really_ weird…

The door leading through to the rest of the Garden slid open with an unceremonious thud, and six people hurried in…all with eyes glowing like mirrors…like Squall's when he did that area-scan spell.

Ellone and Fujin, their strides purposeful and sure as they made a beeline for the cell. Nida, hovering beside Fujin like a shadow before stopping to regard the room's four occupants. Zena and Zamal, following Ellone and Fujin without pause – and without a word of explanation for the Hynedamned _halo_ shining over Zamal's head… And then Irvine.

Who lurched to a halt, staring wonderingly through mercury-shimmering windows at his love. And rushed over to smother her spluttering protests with the single best kiss of _her entire life_.

SeeDs were fleeing, her companions were still going for their weapons, Nida was frantically explaining something… and she couldn't care less, melting into her husband's passionate embrace…

Until a brilliant light flared through her eyelids. From the divine conflagration which had just engulfed Squall's cell.

—ox-oxo-xo—

_Squall's left arm pinwheeled away from its shoulder under the force of The Lion's blow; the hunter completely ignored this, the limb rematerialising in its rightful place without thought or notice as he blocked yet another attack. A slashing riposte sent the monster back a few paces. The Lion's muscles bunched for a leaping swipe…_

_But it didn't come. Its head instead snapped around, seeking the source of the blazing light which suddenly surrounded them, illuminating the darkness. Squall's blade rose in preparation to seize the unexpected opportunity – only to freeze as a small hand rested on his shoulder._

_The intruder was… he didn't recognise her. But she was wielding a chakra, and had not attempted to attack him. Indeed, she had only delayed his charge for long enough to summon her own assistance. The area shimmered and dulled to a ghostly pall in his eyes, as a nightmarish…thing appeared above them, performing a length attack against the enemy. It must, he realised, be some sort of GF..._

_She looked at him, through one striking silver eye…and for the merest fraction of a meaningless moment, her shadow took solid shape in their unshaped realm and split into two forms, one female with a glimmering set of wings, one male with a shimmering crown—_

_And his mind tolled, as if it were a bell struck so hard that it might break. As if it were a reservoir, filled almost to bursting in an instant – an incomprehensibly alien presence swelled in his mind's eye, pulsing a torrent of communication and foreknowledge and instruction which boiled down in his inadequate understanding to two words:_

_:_**Finish it.**_:_

_The power built within him, forcing its way to his lips as the woman's summoned GF finished its attack and dissipated, as the pall of its passage lifted and brought them back to the battlefield…_

_"_Devour!_"_


	11. Memory Never Dies Part 1

**Chapter 11 – Memory Never Dies (Part 1)**

A/N: Lengthwise, this one turned out to be a bit of a monster… So I cut it in half...more or less.

When reading, please take note of when something is in italics or not. It helps when keeping track.

* * *

The floor under her prone body still radiated heat; her elemental defence junction gladly drunk it in, filling her with energy. Fujin climbed to her feet, surveying the damage.

"Hey, Fuj…" Seifer was there, brushing ashes from the bottom of his trenchcoat; the remains of the stool which he'd beem sitting on was naught but a still-smouldering pile of coals and ash on the floor behind him. He must have junctioned himself to absorb fire as well, for which she was incredibly thankful – she had been able to spare him no warning earlier. "You all right?" Fujin nodded confirmation to the posse's leader.

The only furnishing which had survived Phoenix's holocaust was the cot to which Squall remained strapped (because what use a Phoenix Pinion if it set the target's bedding on fire?). He was still unconscious… but the alien jubilation exploding within her skull told Fujin that Pandemona was satisfied – and Gilgamesh's absence told her that he was as well. It was done.

She turned to regard Ellone, who was swaying and glowing with the bright green aura which betrayed her use of her unique power. _In front of a sorceress?_ Looking behind her, she could see Zena and Zamal, slumped against one another just inside the next room. They were unconscious or asleep; either way, they were in no position to observe what Ellone was doing. She sighed with relief; presumably they were merely exhausted due to overuse of their magic, as only Fujin had actually entered the room to use the GF-summoning item.

Behind them stood others. Selphie and Irvine, Quistis and Zell; they gaped at Ellone, weapons hanging slack in their hands. A matronly woman who was probably Zell's wife if she remembered correctly; she was furiously dashing down notes. Nida – and he was looking at her, a brilliant smile on his face at seeing her alive and well. Fujin grinned back at him, triumphant.

And Ellone breathed out, that aura fading, as she turned to the party outside the door with a smile almost as radiant. "It worked. I found him!"

—ox-oxo-xo—

The hunter looked around, scarred brow wrinkling in puzzlement.

His surroundings were… no more _real_ than the stygian battlefield from whence he had somehow come. Yet they seemed…_familiar_…

_Beds. Rows of beds, most of which held sleeping children._ The room was darkened so that they might sleep, curtains drawn and door closed; but as in that insubstantial battlefield, it didn't hinder his sight. It didn't occur to him to wonder where The Lion was. After all (he would have shuddered, were he the type to do so), he had _eaten_ The Lion.

This, it dawned on him, must be the result.

_The children were in all manner of positions – curled into foetal positions, spreadeagled, arms wrapped around – _he looked more closely_ – what appeared to be dolls of some sort. Some sort of monster…? _Then he recognised one of the clutched figures._ That's… a Tonberry…_

_("All right children, it's time for bed."_

_"Awww…" Their disappointment rang out in a chorus._

_Zell asked, "Can yoo read us a story, Matwyn?"_

_She sighed, pretending to be put-upon. "Oh _alright_…" Most of the children appeared to perk up. In the corner, a lonely boy dragged his attention away from his missing Sis. Matron always had told good stories. "How about… a Guardian Force fairytale?"_

_The children cheered; Sefie yelled out, "Tell us the Tonberry one!")_

He blinked. _Was that…?_ These were… _Sure enough, 'Sefie' was clutching the Tonberry doll. She in turn was being clutched by another child. That would explain the empty bed…_

_Another child climbed slowly, almost silently out of his own bed. The lonely child from before looked around, eyes wide in the darkness, as he sought to make certain he hadn't woken the others. His bare feet traversed the wooden floor without a single creak, carrying their owner carefully to the door. _He followed the child outside, his own footfalls making not a sound.

_The boy came to halt on the porch, staring miserably into the rain._ He stopped beside the boy, looking down at him; presumably this was something he was meant to see._ The boy was talking to himself, tears running down his cheeks. "…Sis… I'm…all alone. But I'm doing my best… I'll be OK without you, Sis. I'll be able to take care of myself." Wiping his eyes, the boy looked through the rain, following the path of a searchlight from a nearby lighthouse._ The hunter smiled slightly; the kid was tougher than he looked. _"…Sis Elle…"_ Well, for a four-year-old. It was odd, though – it seemed familiar…

_(The lonely boy mused moodily for a few minutes. And then, as a child's mind does, it drifted to something of more interest._

_He really did enjoy Matron's stories, especially the Guardian Forces ones. They were so brave, and noble, and Matron assured them that unlike many of the other stories she told them, the Guardian Forces were really real._

_His head snapped up, as a sudden idea occurred to him.)_

_"Hey! Maybe a GF will help me find Sis!"_ Now _this_, the hunter mused, was truly strange. It was like seeing something from two positions at once – from inside and outside one's own head…

_(Lost in childish fancy, he decided that since he was unlikely to _actually_ find a GF anytime soon, he should make one up until he could… and it was then that his new GF friend appeared. It was beautiful, its movements majestic and sure, its eyes kindly and proud and resting with loving benevolence upon the boy who had created it…)_

The hunter examined the strange, ghostly apparition which approached. It looked like a big silver cat with wings, or something along those lines. The boy must have been relatively sheltered here, wherever 'here' was; had the child seen even a fraction of the wildly varied array of monsters that _he'd_ seen over his travels, the 'GF' could have been far more impressive. _The boy greeted the imaginary creature, and it responded graciously, informing him that he should be the one to name it._

_("I'll think of one later, if that's OK?"_

_"That's all right. I wouldn't want to have a bad name, you know…" The boy chuckled quietly. "You know, you should go back to bed. It's really cold out here."_

_The boy nodded, tired. He turned round to head back inside – but paused at the door. "Oh, sorry!" He rushed back for a moment. "I didn't tell you my name… It's—")_

_:_**Squall.**_:_

Squall nodded, ignoring the head-splitting sensation of the alien being's deafening call. "These are my memories… Eden." He looked around at the memory-scape, which was beginning to acquire a distinctly washed-out, faded quality. "A GF, yes?"

:_**Yes. Once your memory has been reconstructed, you will awaken.**_: Its pulsing mental tone, similar in a way to The Lion's incessant growling and grumbling, buzzed painfully between his ears; it was presumably that similarity which had caused him to miss the fact that Eden had been with him all this time. :_**This is your path; my role has been served.**_: And then, like a tide sweeping out to sea, its presence began to dwindle. :_**Until we meet again…**_:

It was gone.

For the second time in what he yet regarded as _his_ memory, his head harboured no passengers. For the first time, he had the chance to appreciate it.

Squall straightened, taking a deep breath. He had a feeling this would take a while… _The young Squall headed back inside, as quietly as he left._ He also had a feeling, deep inside, that what he found would be very, _very_ painful.

He shrugged. It was that, or never wake up.

The girl inside, the one who had asked for the Tonberry story… she'd been remembered at the time as 'Sefie', and she had green eyes. Her full name, he realised, was Selphie Tilmitt – now Selphie Kinneas.

He remembered, in the mine, how she had regaled him with tale after tale about the people he had apparently known. If he could have blocked them out of his mind at the time, he no doubt would have. That did not mean he didn't remember most of her words.

The dream around him began to shift, clicking between disjointed depictions of the events she had mentioned. (An adolescent girl in a white dress, dancing with an adolescent, uniformed Squall. A concert held in the centre of a strange, rusted town, and a romantic moment there with the girl. A kiss shared on a balcony at a festival some time later. Her name, he remembered, was Rinoa.) A slew of them, mostly from that period of adolescence; many of them were remembered a little differently to the way _she_ told them, but her reminiscences served their purpose nonetheless.

It was some time later – no way to tell how long, not that he particularly cared – when he returned to that porch where his younger self had loitered. This time he looked around with eyes that were a little more knowledgeable.

For instance, he now remembered that his imaginary GF friend had not been named, and that he'd went on to forget about it.

More or less. For a while.

_The young orphan's mild obsession with Guardian Forces carried over into his time at the newly converted Balamb Garden. Squall spent a great deal of time in the library, avidly perusing everything the school's rapidly expanding archives contained regarding the GFs – what they were, how they worked, what they thought, how they came to be, and especially where one could find them. Maybe if he could master GFs, he reasoned, his Sis would be so proud of him that she'd come back._ That slightly older (but still so young) version of Squall had largely forgotten the 'imaginary GF', Squall recalled, but the boy had retained the original reasoning.

_By and large, what he found was disappointing. Most of it was in the form of the same fairytales which Matron had told him; and what he had accepted at face value from Matron, he was rather suspicious of when it came from a book written by some person he didn't even know. Until one day…_

_("Excuse me sir?"_

_"Keep your voice down! This is a library!"_

_"Yessir, sorry sir. But I have a question…"_

_The faculty member shuffled over to the young boy, his bright red-and-yellow robes flapping about in a most amusing manner. Squall managed not to laugh._ Squall had more difficulty; beyond his complete lack of awe regarding the adult, he simply could not fathom the utility of such outlandish garments._ "What is it?"_

_"This book, sir…"_

_"What about it?" The faculty library manager leaned forward to take a closer look at the book. "I'm pretty sure that one's too mature for you, boy…"_

_"No sir, it's really interesting. But it says I should go read other books, and I can't find any of 'em…"_

_The faculty member carefully picked up the tome, examining the title. Froze for a moment. Flicked through to the page which Squall had left it at. Froze again._ Squall bristled at the clown's behaviour, which was manifestly suspicious. _Squall didn't notice. "I was right…" the faculty member finally said to him, "this one IS too mature for you.")_

_And when he returned the next day, the book had been removed. Never to be seen again._

_It had been about GFs – and the memory loss associated with their use._

_Interesting_, Squall mused. _Two memories – and they're _both_ about GFs…_ Noting the shift to another memory, he returned his attention to the business at hand.

_More beds; a dormitory._ He smirked very slightly; before he'd blacked out, he would not have had a clue what a dormitory was. _The young Squall was sitting on his bed, arms wrapped round his knees, trying not to cry. "Stupid Seifer… always getting me into trouble…" He sported a bruise on his cheek._

_("Yeah?"_

_"Yeah!"_

_"Well make me!"_

_Squall ran at Seifer, pushing him off the hapless kid who had been pinned under the blond; he ran away crying as the bully and young Squall disappeared into a cloud of dust, fists and feet flashing round the periphery, completely ignorant of the growing audience._

_"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?")_

_"…Sis…Elle… Matron…even Uncle Cid hates me… I'm…alone… Why…why must I always…" A single tear seeped out of his scrunched-shut eyelids, ran down his nose. "…Too much…too much pain. Why can't I…forget?"_

"…Ah." He could see where this one was going, he thought.

_His eyes suddenly snapped open, stunned. "Of course! The GF…I can forget with a GF!" The boy frowned. "But I don't have one…not a real one, anyway…" His face took on a ferocious mien of concentration for a few moments. "…Whatever."_

_("Whatever…") (…Whatever…) ("…Whatever…") (Whatever…) ("Whatever!") ("Whatever.") On and on and on… _Squall blinked, trying to clear his head. That had felt like _hundreds_ of 'whatevers' – each with a miniscule snippet of memory attached to them… all out of his own mouth, all in the space of a moment.

(_"…Not even a 'whatever'…?"_)

He was beginning to see Irvine Kinneas's point.

_"I probably don't want a _real_ GF for this anyway. What if I forgot really important stuff, like how to read? …Yeah, that might work…it's worth trying." His eyes snapped forward… And the imaginary GF appeared._ It was, he noted, a little more detailed now; if he remembered correctly, there had been a lot of monsters' descriptions in those classes. Now it looked more like an adolescent chimera, still silver.

_"What is your wish, master?"_

_"You're going to take my pain. You're going to help me forget it. Sis…Matron…all of it. You're going to eat my memory of them. Until I'm strong enough to forget them."_

_The GF's mouth dropped open. "No, no master, that's not the way… What if Elle comes back?"_

_"Shut up! Elle…" The boy swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, their depths were hard, cold. His voice… "Ellone is gone. She will never come back." _…His voice, for the first time, began to approach the emotionless, ragged timbre of his observing older self.

A quiet sob ripped, echoed through the scene, which seemed to ripple with sympathy.

A _woman's_ sob.

"…Who is that?"

"…Me. Ellone." She took form to his right, eyes rivetted on the younger Squall. The elder Squall looked over at the woman who was apparently his sister. Brunette, brown eyes (watery at the moment), a goodly amount of flesh on her bones – standard middle-aged woman, apart from the unusually high quality of her green silk dress. Fairly unremarkable.

Then again, if she was turning up _in his dreams_… "How are you here?"

She looked over at him for a moment. "It's a unique power I have. It's the reason I left all those years ago, because others wanted to use that power for evil purposes." Her attention turned back to the unrolling tableau around them. _The imaginary GF's fur began to crawl with tongues of oily black fire, staining, tarnishing that beautiful silver fur with streaks of corruption as the emotion gradually drained from the boy's face._ "I never saw this, you know…" He just looked at her. "…I can take someone back into someone else's past, as long as I know both of them. But I guess you've forgotten that too…"

"…Not for long."

"So I see. Your memories?"

"I will awake once they have been fully reconstructed."

She darted a quizzical look at her brother. "How do you know that?"

"Eden. It remained for long enough to tell me what I must do."

"Ahhh… Fujin said he'd be gone now."

"Fujin?" The scenery flickered for a few moments, depicting a moderately entertaining battle somewhere in a large room. On one side was Squall, along with a short blond man set in a pugilist's stance and a short girl who he recognised as Selphie. On the other side was a giant, dark-skinned man wielding a staff, along with— "Ah. _Her._ You sent her there?"

"Yes." The battlefield rippled and faded to regress to the dormitory memory once more. "It was the only way to get Eden to you."

He shrugged. "Where am I?"

"Your body, you mean? You're in the infirmary at Trabia Garden. Selphie and Irvine and the others got you out. They're all fine, by the way." He nodded, unsurprised. With the path out having been cleared of most of its monsters, they would have had little trouble making it back. Ellone chuckled suddenly. "You'd better be ready for a big celebration once you wake up…"

"…Whatever?" For some reason, it just seemed right to say it. She jumped, trying to glare at him. And failing miserably.

"…Well," she shook herself, "the sooner you're done here, the sooner you'll be up. So I'll leave you to it. See you later, Squall." And she faded away.

_Eventually, he broke the silence. "I've thought of a name for you."_

He remembered now, the consequence following the fact, that he had eventually done away with the 'imaginary GF friend' itself. What was important was that, after a fashion, the method had worked. Squall had taken all his memories and wishes and feelings and dreams, and fed them to the 'GF' like parchment to a flame. The memories had remained, of course – along with all the rest of it – but they could no longer touch him. He could ignore them. And, over time, forget them.

In the beginning, there had been a great deal more intent than reality in that plan. But as first habit, and then interaction with the two GFs which Balamb Garden had procured the services of had their way, the intent slowly became the reality. He forgot to continue the purging of his memories. But subconsciously, he offered no resistance to Quezacotl and Shiva when they claimed the price for their use.

It had been _this_ which had led him down the cold road. It was _this_ which put the events surrounding his briefly-outlined adolescent encounters with the others into context.

_"What is it, master?" Its gentle voice had acquired a timbre which hinted at a great sorrow; it seemed only right._

Eventually, the 'GF' had become more of a goal, a symbol of what he wanted to become. Strong, proud. Untouchable. He forgot that it was ever meant to be a GF, let alone an imaginary one.

He _did_, however, remember enough of the original idea to commission Balamb's Junk Shop, using gil painstakingly collected from looting monsters, to craft a platinum keychain and ring in its image.

_"…Your name is Griever."_

He had been fourteen by the time he could afford to collect his purchase. By then, he had forgotten the truth behind its commission completely.

—ox-oxo-xo—

Oh-three-hundred hours, Trabian Central Standard time. The Garden had finally calmed down. In fact most of its occupants were dreaming.

There were exceptions, of course, though not many. Mainly the night patrols, the SeeDs and staff who kept the curfew and guarded against threats from without and within. (Though the ones which had stood guard on the ex-Commander were now tucked thankfully in their beds, or at least in _someone's_ beds.) A lone couple in the Secret Area (an idea which Selphie had liked so much after seeing the one in Balamb Garden that she made sure to have one installed when Trabia was rebuilt), debating whether or not to just sleep there and miss class the next morning. An instructor or two, churning through some late marking. And Mary Dincht, who was still feverishly jotting down notes while her husband dozed in their bed, dreaming about endless hot dogs and salad dressing (1).

Irvine was dreaming about old memories – Sefie, and Squall and Rinoa, often bittersweet; burrowing into his chest, Selphie was dreaming about the celebration they'd throw when Squall woke up. (Dreaming about _that_ instead of anything else had taken some work, but she'd managed it…) They slept in the Headmistress' quarters; even if Quistis hadn't relinquished the usurped post with alacrity following the inevitable explanations, she would hardly have kicked her out of her own bedroom.

(The explanations had been rather short; after all, they were all tired, and so they had been cut off after it was made clear that Squall would no longer turn into a giant monster and try to kill everyone. Perhaps it was for the best; if Fujin had been allowed to explain fully, their dreams would likely have been a great deal heavier…)

Quistis and Ellone were sharing a room. Ellone was another who wasn't dreaming, but that was only because Ellone had learned a long time ago what could happen when she was silly enough to let her sleeping mind wander uncontrolled. In any case, it would be several hours before she followed through on her plan to send Quistis into Squall's past. Meanwhile, Quistis was dreaming about President Zone…and a whip.

By a strange coincidence, Seifer was also having a dream involving whips; alas, he hadn't managed to find one in time. Oh well, there was always tomorrow… Nida and Fujin were dreaming about their days in White SeeD, back when they were an unbroken posse of four. Such were _usually_ Raijin's dreams too; tonight, however, he was dreaming of flying to the moon. Zena was dreaming of Squall, and fairytale romance; Zamal was dreaming of very, very little, fully immersed in the rest of the utterly exhausted. Neither case would be particularly surprising to the other, if they weren't too busy sleeping to enquire.

The nurse in the infirmary wasn't _supposed_ to be dreaming, but she'd dozed off behind her desk. If she hadn't, she might have noticed the faint glow radiating from the ward in which Squall rested. Specifically, the actinic luminescence radiating from his left fist, which by now was clenched so hard that the glove was becoming saturated with blood.

—ox-oxo-xo—

_"The most powerful GF… …You shall… …SUFFER…!"_

_The Sorceress Ultimecia threw her head back and laughed in traditionally maniacal fashion as she summoned a monstrosity into existence above the party._ Seated unseen on the ornate throne which the sorceress had vacated to fight them (it was the only place to sit, really - and for all its insubstantiality, it remained surprisingly comfortable), Squall looked up at the GF she had summoned. He was slightly interested to note that it wasn't one the party had encountered in their travels. _It was somewhat similar in shape to an elnoyle, only far larger. Grey and black and red, gold eyes, claws drenched crimson with the blood of countless enemies, blackened wings…_

If the younger Squall was surprised to see the emblem of his ring come to life and fight them, the elder Squall was staggered to see the 'imaginary GF' taking solid form to turn against its creator. Clearly, these 'sorceresses' could be even more dangerous than he had heard. _Squall shook away the shock almost immediately, darting in to slash at the monstrous Guardian Force. To his left, Zell and Selphie – _for he had been subjected to the long and drawn-out story of the Second Sorceress War, of which this appeared to be the final chapter_ – didn't even hesitate, leaping in to land their own blows._ He nodded with a grunt of approval. Much as his companions of that time annoyed him – both elder and younger selves – with their meaningless shows of emotion and their inconvenient tendency to pry into his affairs, they obviously knew how to put it aside when it truly mattered.

It might have surprised his younger self to have known that Squall felt very little in the way of shame for his own past embarrassments. Then again, the younger Squall – like most adolescents – remained largely convinced that he was an adult. Thirty years on, Squall knew better. The whole 'Rinoa' thing, which he knew in a distant sort of way could not have worked (after all, how else would he have ended up like he had today?), had caused him only slightly more embarassment (lust in its various forms being another thing which tended to fascinate adolescent creatures).

Why was he feeling so uneasy?

He watched on as Griever performed its signature attack…and then as Ultimecia junctioned herself to the monster. _Why would a human…join with a monster? Willingly?_ _Un_willingly, he could forgive – after all, what else could The Lion be classed as, if not a monster?

A dark suspicion began to squirm in his gut.

_Everything went dark. And then Ultimecia appeared once again…in a twisted form of herself. "I am Ultimecia. Time shall compress…" That exotic, crawling accent, strangely, had vanished. "…All existence denied."_

_("Today, we are going to start on a new book." Lina, a White SeeD, was telling a pair of children a story. Squall found the scene startlingly domestic, for all that it was obviously a history lesson rather than a story told merely for entertainment. "It's a story about a very wise man named Vascaroon. The title of the book is 'The Legend of Vascaroon'." The children, clad in their little white uniforms, leaned forward to better listen._

_"Once upon a time, there was a person named Hyne. Hyne was the ruler of the world." Lina looked down at the children, her face serious. "He was the ruler of the world. He became lazy and decided to make a tool to make his life easier. Hyne made a neat tool. His tool could make more tools by itself. Soon there were a lot of tools in the world. These tools were actually people.")_

_("…I should tell you this before I go." Rinoa paused to frame her words; the two aides and three soldiers of Esthar kept a discreet distance, still within earshot, but far enough away to give at least the illusion of privacy. "I was possessed out in space. There was a sorceress inside me." She turned away, unwilling – perhaps unable – to look him in the face. "Ultimecia, a sorceress from the future. She's trying to achieve time compression."_

_Out of the corner of his eye, he distantly noted the leading aide, nodding significantly to the other._

_"She's the only one who would be able to exist in such a world. She, and no other.")_

_("…Hyne cut his body in half and gave the people half as promised. Then, another war started. People began to fight over the power Hyne offered them through his body. This war lasted for decades. Finally, King Zebalga and the Zebalga tribe emerged victorious and demanded Hyne's body-half to get its powers. But the body ignored their demands._

_"Then, Vascaroon came to the rescue. He appeared before the confused Zebalgas and revealed to them that Hyne's body-half was corrupt and possessed no real power. The body-half was actually Hyne's cast-off skin. The Zebalgas were angered by this truth, and decided to hunt down Hyne._

_"The Zebalgas never found Hyne. People began to call him 'Hyne the Magician' and continued to hunt him for centuries to come.")_

_(Squall and Rinoa descended down the ramp, to be confronted by two aides and three soldiers of Esthar. He dully wondered whether they would try to fight them._

_Then the leading aide bowed respectfully. "Sorceress Rinoa. Hyne's descendant." So they had decided to try for diplomacy first…)_

_Ultimecia began to mutter under her (its?) breath. She (it) had taken massive damage, including the full brunt of several Lionheart limit breaks; the monstrous, nominally invisible vehicle below her had been slashed to ribbons long ago. "Reflect on your… Childhood…"_

Squall knew, he _knew_, that his younger self had not made the connection.

_("Hyne…" Squall looked up through the ceiling, sprawled on his bed. His eyes burned, his stomach roiled. But his head was clear, crisp, beyond ice. "You… Will… _Pay._")_

Not until much later.

_Squall staggered to a stop, looking down off the precipice into infinity. Then turned around – only to find himself on a small island of featureless desert-scape, floating in the void. He'd been caught in a time warp._

Unlike the younger Squall, struggling amidst his hallucinations, the elder Squall could _see_ the ethereal presence which attempted to entrap his soul; it looked rather similar to that time when Ultimecia had been rendered visible through Ellone's efforts, her hand wrapped cruelly round Rinoa's neck. Shorn of all other options, the controlling presence behind the final sorceress had taken his last gamble – scrabbling for purchase round a far more dangerous part of him than his neck…

But his soul had been claimed already, and Rinoa wasn't letting go.

Squall Leonhart was numb, watching once more as she kissed his younger self on the balcony of Balamb Garden. He saw that smile on his clean-shaven, virtually unmarred visage, a smile which he had never seen there.

He realised, then.

That callow, capricious sorceress girl…had been the love of his life.

_Painful, indeed._

* * *

Ending A/N: (1) The 'salad dressing' is a VERY loose reference to a fic called 'Meal Ticket', written by LoverOfSilverHairedBishies and posted on FanFictionNet. (Use 'Squall' and 'Zell' as filters to find it quickly.) Personally, I don't regard my mention as detailed enough a reference to count as potential plagiarism – but since LOSHB seems by their profile-page to be particularly sensitive about the topic, let me note that (a) Zell's liking for salad dressing on his hotdogs in _this_ story has nothing to do with 'Meal Ticket's plot, and (b) **'Meal Ticket' is a light-hearted, rather humorous story and I recommend that you go and read it.** (If you're reading, LOSHB, I hope that satisfies and placates you…because if it doesn't, I'll just laugh.)

Next chapter: I finally start delivering on that 'tragedy'...


	12. Memory Never Dies Part 2

**Chapter 12 – Memory Never Dies (Part 2)**

A/N: This is the second part of a chapter which was so monstrously long that I cut it in half. Probably I should have chopped this chapter in half, too - but I'm still sticking with the 'three-chapters-per-update' method, and I didn't want to leave too blatant a cliffhanger (because, you know, that pisses me off too). So I left it as-is. Sorry.

Be warned, here the OOC-ness may be harder to ignore - just keep in mind that it's deliberate (hopefully).

As in the previous chapter: please pay attention to whether something is in italics or not. It does help.

* * *

The doctor, stretching and stifling a yawn as she came in for the start of her 0600 shift, stopped to stare down unbelievingly at the dozing nurse. But in the end she decided to leave her there undisturbed for the moment, on the basis of past experience. The young nurse had a distinct tendency to flap about in a panic when surprised, and the doctor would have a far better chance of figuring out what needed doing without the distraction.

The sight which she beheld from the doorway into Squall Leonhart's ward, however, changed her mind.

"_Get in here, you lazy lout!_"

As a rule, a patient's hand glowing like a magnesium flare and dripping blood on the floor was something a nurse should _notice_.

—ox-oxo-xo—

_"…I'd rather not talk about that."_

_Quistis sighed._ Squall sympathised a little. The few people who he could remember from his time as a hunter would certainly attest that he didn't talk much. But at least he knew when it was _important_ to talk… and it had been an important question.

_Almost immediately after the festival's close, Quistis Trepe had left for Esthar, looking for something in Esthar's academic archives. It was the prospect of those archives that had lured her to head a training mission in Esthar City, leading the cleanup of the thousands of monsters which the Lunar Cry had dropped on the Estharian continental enclave. A year later, she had returned, with her first thesis under her belt._

_"…His ring?" Rinoa wasn't so shy concerning the subject. She toyed absently with her replica, dangling between her ample breasts on a silver chain. "Well, he told me after rescuing me during the battle with Galbadia Garden that it was a lion, not a monster. He said it was strong, and proud, and it was what he wanted to be… or something like that, anyway."_

_"And its name was Griever…?"_

_Squall nodded._

_Quistis stood. "…Thank you for telling me." Took a deep breath. "Headmaster Leonhart, I wish to tender my resignation from SeeD."_

_Rinoa gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. Squall recoiled slightly. "…Why, if I may ask?"_

_"Doctor Odine has offered me a research partnership. He read my thesis, and wants to give me a lab to research the nature of the GFs."_

_Squall eventually nodded, his features almost unchanged. "Immediate secondment to the Estharian Government's service for research purposes. Your current contract as a member of SeeD expires…" he typed a query into his access workstation, "…huh. In five months in any case. We can keep you on the records until then, if you have no objections…"_

_Quistis saluted, probably grateful for the extra salary. "That will do perfectly. Thank you, Squall. I'll see you tomorrow, before I head out." And she turned around, leaving his office._

_Rinoa glared at him. "You didn't even TRY to stop her…!"_

_Squall stared back at her. "It was her decision." She growled at him, storming out. He sighed, and immersed himself in paperwork without further thought._ He shook his head sadly; the warrior who had taken down the most powerful sorceress in history, and he was rotting away in mountains of paper…

_("You're about to lose her, you young fool!"_

_"…"_

_"Don't you even _care_?"_

_"…" (I care. Of course I care! But…)_

_"You _should_ care. And not just because you're losing her… but because _**she's**_ losing _**you!**_"_

_"…?"_

_Dr. Kadowaki indulged herself in a facepalm at his expense. "She's a sorceress, Squall, and you're her knight. If she loses you…")_

_And he was back in his room, _Squall standing over his prone, oblivious younger self,_ lost in thought. Dr. Kadowaki's words had sunk in deep._

_He had a duty. To SeeD, to the world…to Rinoa… To himself. And duty, if nothing else, was something he understood. He _had_ to do it, _he remembered, _but more importantly… As scared as he was by the prospect… He _wanted_ to._

_Unnoticed by the young Headmaster, the sorceress had entered his room._

_"Squall…we need to talk—" Sitting up, he held a hand out to stop her, eyes fixed firmly on her feet._

_"I know…but let me go first." _He began to shiver, his stomach churning with a rising tide of unnamed horror. _"Rinoa…you've shown me so much of myself…my emotions." A wry smile danced across his sweating features. "Usually against my will. You've brought me so far. Usually, kicking and screaming."_

_"I know, and—" He stopped her again._

_"I can't remember… _ever_ being happy. Not as a child. Not since. All I know, Rinoa, _**all…I…know**_ – is how to be a killer. Or a loner, I guess. Not that's any better." He drew a deep, shaky breath, his hand still up to forestall any interruptions from his girlfriend. "I never…learned how to be a person, Rinoa…"_

_He looked up into her chocolate, misting eyes at last._

_"If…I don't want to lose you," he swallowed, "then… I need to learn." Swallowed again. "And… I need you to teach me. You…the others…everybody, I guess. But mostly you."_

_Rinoa's mouth worked, trying to form words…_

_"Will you…help me?"_

_...And then her lips stretched, and her eyes shone and her tears ran, and _the chasm took shape before his mind's eye, cloaked all too inadequately by the ethereal, thin-as-nothing shroud of that which could only remain forgotten for so long, stretching all the way into the future and_ she flew into his arms, babbling joyfully as if he'd paid her the single biggest compliment he could ever in a million years think of._

_It was not until months later that he began to comprehend that, in fact, he had._

_"So…what were you going to say?"_

_"I don't wanna say it any more… Let's just say…you were about to lose me." The sorceress tilted her head up to plant a fond kiss on the tip of his nose._

_He slumped, drenched with relief. "…Close call, huh…?"_

_"Yup."_

This was no longer the calm and collected search for dusty old memories, the finding of which would serve no purpose other than to allow him to wake up and be on his solitary way. No, _this_ was more like the adolescent Squall's gradual remembrance of his early childhood – the inexorable ripping open of old scars, seemingly bared for no purpose other than to poke and prod at the festering mess beneath.

And there was no choice, none at all.

_On Rinoa's advice, he called Selphie to the office. Back for a vacation from the slow rebuilding of Trabia Garden, he had been loath to enlist her help – after all, much as he approved in principle of her first choice of co-conspirator, the Trabian SeeD had enough problems of her own. But Rinoa had insisted._

_"…So, what with the workload and the meetings and everything… I haven't had the time to learn how to relax—"_

_She burst out laughing. He gaped at her (or at least came as close as he was physically capable) for a long moment… __And then he understood, the truth bubbling up and slashting from his tongue with the cutting force of a swordstroke. Squall could only hope she heard him through her giggling fit._

_"…We're child soldiers, Selph. Cold-blooded killers, all of us. Quistis forgets to be kind and caring the moment a mission presents itself. Zell snaps at the drop of a hat. Irvine's only _mostly_ kidding when he does his 'lonely sharpshooter' spiel, and you… you laugh and dance because it's that or cry. Or start to enjoy the slaugher too much." He'd been pretty certain she was listening, and he was proved right when her mouth slammed shut and her emerald eyes sharpened to awls. "It's not just me. We're ALL broken, one way or another. I'm just the most obvious example, unless maybe you include Seifer." He leaned forward over his desk, clenched knuckles crackling under the strain as they pressed against its polished surface, matching her stare for furious stare._

_"I almost lost Rinoa before I could figure all this out. And I could still lose her, because I have __**not the slightest idea**__ of how to turn myself into a decent human being! And I will NOT LET THAT HAPPEN." He leaned back, trying to rein in his own irrational fury. "I've got Rinoa to help us, but…" he hesitated, searching for the words, "…she's not broken like we are. There are a lot of things she's not going to know how to even look at."_

_Her hard gaze dimmed in its intensity. He heaved a tiny sigh of relief._

_"…Out of the five of us…well, you're the most sociable. We both know it's just another mask – and don't even _think_ about arguing, I __**see**__ you in there – but at least you pretend better than the rest of us."_

_Her gaze racheted back up to 'fry-the-commander' intensity…and Squall's chuckle surprised even himself. He really had gone beyond the pale, he realised. Hopefully she wouldn't attempt to kill him - Irvine would likely gun him down from five hundred metres without warning, after hearing about her death at the Commander's hands._

_"But let's just pretend that I didn't say all that, and cut to the bit where I ask you to help teach us ALL how to relax." He sat back down, his smile fading. "…So can you help us?"_

_She was looking at him, something in her eyes which he could not remember seeing before… something he recognised as if it were a part of himself. And for the tiniest of moments, she gave him a smile which eerily reminded him of the one Rinoa had given him yesterday…_

_And then the mask slammed up, and little-ball-of-sunshine-Selphie was locked securely back in place. "Sure, anything for the orphanage gang! I can't wait! This is gonna be soooo much fun!"_

_Squall being Squall, it was several years later before he learned about the 'Sir Squall' fansite which mysteriously appeared on the Garden's network the next week. Later, he reflected that he had probably been better off not knowing. He was uncomfortable enough being referred to as 'Sir' Squall in the first place. Knowing that _Selphie_ had come up with the whole thing would have been particularly embarrassing…_

By this point, Squall was virtually dry-heaving. Compared to this, even area-scanning a malboro was a mild stomachache. If clawing out his eyes could work here, he might have tried. Over all his life, all the pieces he had hold of, he could only remember one time at which he had felt worse.

_Zell and Irvine were next. As it turned out, though, they had already given some thought to the problem – that was, how to relax (as opposed to the darker, more abstract thoughts which Squall had been dwelling upon)._

_And so, the weeks and months fell into a routine of a new sort. Headmaster Leonhart slowly learned to escape the paperwork-trap which had ensnared his predecessor. (When Xu complained, he directed her to Dr. Kadowaki; subsequently she reluctantly contented herself with hiring more staff to deal with the increased workload.)_

_Every couple of weeks, Squall would take Rinoa out to a romantic dinner. In the beginning, she would specify in minute detail each requirement of the night that he must ensure was tailored to her satisfaction – what flowers, what clothing, what music, which dance… But Squall was a quick learner, and a powerful motivation led him to research the topic thoroughly and with a lack of shame which would have left his younger self with his forehead practically welded to his palm. And so, three months after their bargain had been struck, he successfully completed his first ever 'surprise date'…_

_(Squall opened his eyes, looking down to find a young black-haired sorceress in his bed. A beautific smile spread across his face._

_She stirred, stretching languorously in his embrace. "Mmm…" Rinoa looked up at him, a mischievous smirk on her face. "We're making some progress here…" And she slithered further under the blankets._

_"H-Hey…")_

…_Huh._ Squall realised he was blushing, the widening chasm forgotten for a brief, blessed moment. The hunter had never been the sort to pay too close attention to the female body and its attractions. It seemed that wasn't always the case…

_At least once a month, Selphie would drag him out – along with anyone else who was available – to a party. It might be a nightclub, or one of the frenetic house-parties with which students and SeeDs alike filled their infrequent free time. It was _never_ anything like the staid balls which Squall's diplomatic duties forced upon him._

_In the beginning, he was the archetypal wallflower. And he never did loosen his dignity enough to prance about like a fool on the dancefloor like the others. But as each party went on, Squall could usually be found at the centre of a group of card-players, taking Triple Triad challenges or talking about cards to other aficionados._

_It was that habit, noted by Irvine, which shaped the guys' strategy. Every Friday night, without fail, the two of them would drag him out of his office (by the scruff of the neck, if required) and head to Zell's recently purchased house in Balamb Town. It was Squall's first introduction to a game which he'd heard mentioned once in Dollet – a card game by the name of 'poker'. Irvine taught them the basics, and Squall quickly mastered them…until they began playing for shots of whiskey (supplied by Irvine, _via_ methods he adamantly refused to disclose and Squall semi-reluctantly refrained from _ordering_ he disclose)._

_It took Rinoa and Selphie a while to cotton on to those drunken gatherings; Irvine and Zell had laboriously stressed the 'guys-only' nature of the things, and Squall took them at their word. Of course, once the ladies found out, they just started coming too, dragging an irate Mary with them. (Irvine and Zell raised a fuss, the first time it happened; Squall just shrugged and offered them a drink.)_

_And then Quistis and Ellone started coming, at which point any pretence of 'poker night' went flying out the first-story window and they merely proceeded to get on with what Squall had wanted in the first place. They all simply got the chance to relax and enjoy each others' company._

That feeling was getting worse…almost on a par now with the worst moment he could remember…

—ox-oxo-xo—

Ellone's eyes drifted open, seeking the shadow hovering over her.

"Are you awake?" Quistis came into focus.

"…Yeah, I'm done…" Peeling off the blankets, she heaved herself out of the bed with a grunt. "It worked. I was able to talk to him directly."

The blonde tottered over to her bag, digging out clothing. "How is he?"

"Remembering everything. It seems he can't wake up until he does." She let out a ragged sigh, almost a sob; she'd never realised that Squall had ever actually, consciously _given up_ on her. The prospect that he actually had to _remember_ everything… that was something she would simply rather not think about. _But needs must..._ "Poor guy. I hope he's strong enough…"

The scientist whirled round to stare at her, almost tripping over her half-donned skirt in the process. "Didn't you say—"

"Yeah, I did… If Fujin and Pandemona are right, then The Lion is gone – and since Gilgamesh is gone, then they probably _are_ right. The danger of its escape has passed…" She stifled a tired yawn, wishing she didn't feel obliged to tell her friend even _this_ much. If Quistis hadn't been the vehicle for her most recent sojourn in the past, if some part of her hadn't told her she _needed_ to know the risk… "If he fails now…he'll just never wake up."

The women began dressing, silence broken only by feminine morning rituals for several minutes. No doubt the scientist was slotting that snippet of knowledge into the jigsaw, a jigsaw of which only Quistis had seen all the pieces. It was her nature, and Ellone didn't envy her. "…And when were you planning to tell Selphie and the others?"

"Depends… Do _you_ know when hell's meant to freeze over?" She sighed. "If he just takes too long, I'll try to help him. If he dies, I'll tell them then. Until then…"

Quistis gave her a grave nod, silent agreement to abide by their habitual code of silence. _Why talk about it when you don't have to?_

—ox-oxo-xo—

_Of course, learning to relax was merely a start. The time spent with his friends was invaluable in recapturing his adolescence. But, as he had known from the moment he decided to embark on the project, Squall simply didn't have the time to linger. After all, the world – and his duties – moved apace._

_Over the years, the young Balamb Headmaster had been forced to deal with the Estharian Government – and thus with his estranged father – on a regular basis. One might have thought that their renewed contact would bring them closer together; however, Squall had never been one to let go of grudges, and the one he harboured against President Laguna Loire was at the very core of his soul. (And besides, it wasn't as if Rinoa could talk. She never really forgave _her_ father either…)_ And fair enough, the elder Squall judged, though certainly not with the same acrimonious stubbornness that the younger Squall affected. If he had to put up with 'the moron' for political reasons, why not just put up with him for famillial reasons? It just didn't seem that important to him. _As such, Headmaster Leonhart religiously avoided President Loire on any occasion he could get away with it, despite numerous well-meaning attempts by both Laguna himself and Squall's friends to reunite them._

_It was Kiros Seagill, the canny aide who was usually the one forced to actually attend to the boring details of Laguna's presidential duties, who was the first to recognise that Squall was quite likely physically incapable of _ever_ forgiving the father who had unknowingly abandoned him. So, at least, he intimated in a carefully conducted private conversation with the SeeD commander. It was with this in mind that he offered his friendship – wrapped in words like 'alliance' and 'duty', but friendship nonetheless. He seemed surprised with the acceptance, however lukewarm, which his offer received._

_Squall had realised, some time past, that an important part of what he was missing was a male-adult role model. Not Laguna, that pointlessly exuberant clown. Not Cid, that ineffectual knight. And Kiros Seagill's steady, easy maturity was exactly what Squall Leonhart had needed. His example shone like a searchlight in darkness, showing Squall something of what he could turn out to be if only he put his mind to it._

_The ex-Galbadian aide helped him to finish what the ex-Galbadian sorceress had started._

_Squall Leonhart finally grew up. Finally became the leader which almost everyone else had been convinced he was meant to be. And with that acceptance, came the happiness that he'd longed for all his life – the happiness he'd all but convinced himself was simply impossible for him to attain…_

The moment that he had seen Rinoa floating dead in space, visage darkened forever, faceplate shattered. The nightmare which had haunted him for months after the end of the war. The illusion which sent him into a catatonic state so deep that, upon recovering him from the time warp in which he'd been trapped, Rinoa had initially believed _him_ dead. The single worst memory that he could recall.

This feeling…now it was worse than _that_.

_Their lives went on, as lives tend to do. It was after a long and leisurely courtship, almost four years, that Squall and Rinoa married (in a grotesquely over-orchestrated ceremony of the sort that world leaders tend to find it almost impossible to avoid). They still yelled at each other a lot - not that he really minded; Squall had learned to appreciate, even during the Sorceress War, the merits of a good tension-easing argument…_

_("…Rinoa… Just stay close to me."_

_She swooned. "Oh… Those words!"_

_"What?"_

_"That's what started everything."_

_"What are you talking about?"_

_"You don't remember?" Rinoa seemed to be bristling over something._

_"Something I said?" It was the best he could come up with._

_"Oh, just forget it!" she snapped at him._

_Realisation dawned… "No, it's because of the GF. That's why I forgot."_

_"That's just an excuse." …After all, she had mentioned more than once her admiration for the Timber way of marriage. Squall smirked._

_"Feeling better?"_

_Almost against her will, she sheepishly smiled. "Yeah.")_

_If nothing else, it kept things interesting. And Rinoa usually remembered to keep the scratches out of public view._

_Zell and Mary married about a year later, in a much more intimate ceremony which coincided with the blond martial artist's long-coming resignation from SeeD; Zell took over the car-rental, while Mary set up a small bookstore which (given the former librarian's proclivities) soon grew into a respectable public library which just happened to sell books as a sideline. Unlike the knight-and-sorceress couple, Zell and Mary almost immediately got on with the business of starting a family. (Truth be told, they actually got started a little early…) Meanwhile, Irvine and Selphie performed an intricate game of on-again to off-again to just-friends to friends-with-benefits to on-again and so on down the line, between Balamb and Trabia and back again, with an outward display of indifference which fooled almost no-one but themselves. The others would amuse themselves in light-hearted fashion by taking sides and laying bets. Squall, being Squall, would just roll his eyes and silently wish they'd hurry it up._

_On the political side of things, SeeD was one of the most influential players in the new power balance which slowly – but always, always hectically – began to take shape. Esthar had the aftermath of the Lunar Cry and the Galbadian assault on their capital to deal with; Galbadia had lost a hefty proportion of its armed forces in its aggression, not to mention their major leaders. Amidst the rubble of Galbadia's empire, old nations proceeded to break away from their weakened overlords. Dollet and Trabia began to open negotiations with Esthar, and Timber began to sue for independence in earnest. And the most powerful mercenary company in the world suddenly found itself squarely in the middle, their services clamoured for by all sides._

_In the beginning, SeeD's message had been simple: _fight, and we'll kill you_. Simple, direct… but strangely, not all that effective. However, as Squall began to grow, his latent skills in the art of character analysis soon blossomed into a positive talent for diplomacy. By two years after the end of the war, Squall had at least one meaningful connection to his father: an informal triumverate consisting of the Estharian President, the Balamb Headmaster and Mayor Dobe of Fisherman's Horizon, formed to snap the world out of its cycle of conflict. Within the year, they successfully agitated for General Caraway to steer Galbadia out of its devastating civil war, and Timber was formally liberated at last (incidentally, ending finally the minor SeeD contract which had begun the whole ordeal for Squall and his comrades – not that any of them paid any attention to it by that point)._

_Four years after Ultimecia, all six major nations had signed and ratified non-aggression pacts with the others, with SeeD as the peacekeepers and Fisherman's Horizon as the mediator agreed upon in the event of future disputes – and with at least marginally sane leaders ruling on all sides, the world began to recover at last from the horrors of two world wars and a Lunar Cry._

_Six years after Ultimecia, Esthar had begun construction of its own Garden, its planned location at the centre of a rapidly expanding commercial port set near the southwestern coast of the Mordred Plains; a mammoth tunnel was in the process of being bored through the raised plateau which partitioned the area from Esthar's enclosed territories._

_Eight years after Ultimecia, Timber's first lumber plantation was pronounced ready for harvest…and left alone to grow wild as a commemorative gesture. A train line from Balamb to the newly built Trabian capital (a _small_ capital, but a capital nonetheless) was also completed, and began to run services. And the Deep Sea Research Centre was finally scuttled following an intensely negotiated, long-awaited treaty between Esthar and Galbadia. All three events, largely symbolic in nature, were nonetheless celebrated the world over, as people began to finally believe that their world might actually turn out all right…_

This was purely _agonising_. Even returning to himself after The Lion's rampages had been better than this - at least then he could reasonably hope to black out after a little while. He was teetering on the jagged edge of the chasm, spanning now in all directions, its depths hidden now by the merest gossamer cloak of brimstone. The abyss leered at him, taunting him with the knowledge he had no choice but to suffer…

_…And nine years after Ultimecia, Squall's worst nightmare came to its inevitable crux._

And the torture went on, inexorable, unstoppable.

_Sorceress Rinoa Heartilly Leonhart began to turn._

—ox-oxo-xo—

If there were any justice in the world, any _at all_, Fujin should be a bubbling puddle on the floor, liquefied by the sheer heat of Selphie's megawatt-glare. "You. Did. _WHAT?_"

Fujin merely grimaced slightly.

"He actually has to…" her stomach flipped and churned, "_RELIVE everything?_" She had to stop for a moment, to force the bile back down.

Sure, she'd wanted Squall to remember. Why else would she have gone to the trouble of telling him so much about his past, and their adventures together, if not to get the old Squall back? But there was a _world_ of difference between the long, slow process of assembling and piecing the jigsaw back together over the course of years – something that Squall and Selphie had both needed to do before – and having that memory forced whole down his throat…

"REQUIRED." The silver-haired former White SeeD at least had the grace to look a little penitent. "_MUST_ REMEMBER…OR DIE."

…It could kill him. It could actually kill him.

She wished that she could bring herself to be surprised.

Entering the infirmary's waiting room with a breakfast tray balanced on each of his hands, Irvine darted Fujin a grainy-eyed glare. It was about the most he would comment this early in the morning, but it sufficed to let them know he had heard their charged exchange. Nida entered behind him, also with two trays; sliding them onto the desk, he stooped to plant a kiss on the top of his wife's head. Fujin leaned her head back into his chest for a moment, eye closed… It occurred to Selphie that Fujin was way more tense than she had realised – even tenser than her malevolent attentions could account for…

"You love him too, don't you?"

Irvine smirked. "That sounded wrong…" Selphie's sudden blush sent him into a silent chuckling fit.

"NIDA… PANDEMONA…" _Well, that shut him up._ Fujin shared a laden glance with Nida, trading nods. She was suddenly reminded of decades past, when Fujin and Raijin would do the same thing; she supposed it was necessary when dealing with someone who talked as little as she did.

"You know…" Nida was continuing, sparing his wife the need to speak. "I never could get up the courage to speak to the Commander about Fujin. I was going to…but you remember how scary he was in those days, right?"

Selphie shrugged slightly. She guessed he was referring to the time around that first SeeD test after Ultimecia's defeat, the test Squall had grudgingly allowed Fujin and Raijin to take. It had come as a surprise to her that Fuj and Rai had never actually attempted to pass the test; it was only that, she recalled, which convinced the Commander to let them rejoin Balamb Garden for long enough to finally sit it.

"But…" He took a deep breath, actually blushing himself a little. "He knew already. Fuj told me about Seifer, about how Matron—" She wasn't surprised to hear Nida refer to Edea Kramer as Matron despite the lack of a childhood connection; the way she heard it, most White SeeDs referred to her as Matron. "—wanted him to join White SeeD. About how Fuj and Rai wanted to go with him. And she wanted me to go with her."

Irvine straightened over his hashbrowns. "So you were together _that_ far back?" He never had paid as much attention to the relationships of those around them as she had. Then again, few people did…

"We got together at the ball after my SeeD test," Nida shrugged, as if it should be no surprise. And in retrospect, she could see why he hadn't mentioned that fact before – a great deal of Garden would have gone _ballistic_ if they'd known that the pilot's girlfriend was fighting on the other side. "The thing is… Squall _knew_. He didn't say anything, not a single damn word that whole time… but he knew." He shared a gentle smile with his silver-haired love.

"The first _I_ knew…"

_"Fujin…stay behind a moment."_

_She turned, her porcelain brow creased into a slight frown. The other newly christened SeeDs retreated as ordered, Raijin darting a puzzled look over his shoulder on the way out. Nida cleared his throat. "Do you…need me to leave, Commander?"_

_"No." Commander Leonhart strode over to his cluttered desk, pulling out a handful of sealed manila envelopes from a draw and slipping something else into his pocket. He came to a halt before the one-eyed SeeD, dropping into 'at ease' stance without appearing to think about it. "SeeD Fujin Kazeno… Your first mission." He handed her an envelope. "You are to be seconded to the White SeeDs indefinitely, with an option for permanent transfer to White SeeD to be offered six weeks after your mission begins. Further details on the mission are enclosed…"_

_Nida tensed. Why would Commander Leonhart wish to spy on White SeeD…?_

_"…But for the moment, your basic mission will be to familiarise yourself with White SeeD's command structure and procedures, and serve Matron Edea as she sees fit. SeeD Raijin Kazeno will be performing the same mission, under the same conditions." He handed her another envelope. "You will deliver his orders. You will be leaving in two days' time. Your mission commander will be…"_

_And he handed out the third and final envelope…_

_"…SeeD Nida Glimsche." To Nida. "Your replacement will be boarding us at Fisherman's Horizon tomorrow morning." Stunned, Nida could do nothing but salute; Fujin followed suit, trying not to gape. The Commander returned the salute, his features changing not a whit._

_"Oh…and one last thing…" He dug into his pocket, fishing out a small purple-hued charm and holding it out to the newly-christened SeeD._

_If anything, Fujin was even more pessimistic about humanity and its capacity for cruelty than Nida had ever been. To see her face when the world proved her wrong was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he could ever imagine bearing witness to._

_Sitting nonchalantly in Squall's leather-clad palm was the keystone to the GF Pandemona._

_It wasn't a broad smile, by any means. But it was genuine, and gentle, and maybe even a little fond. And it encompassed the not-quite-secret-enough lovers like the friendly embrace that Squall would never in a million years give them. "Good luck." And then, dropping the priceless gem into Fujin's trembling hand, he turned away and strode rowards the platform to the cockpit and its helm. "Dismissed…both of you."_

"So…" Irvine muttered, "That would be a 'yes'."

Nida and Fujin Glimsche shrugged in unison, each more than a little embarrassed after sharing a tale which had stayed private for nearly thirty years. "He didn't have to let me go with her. And he didn't have to give Pandemona back to her either. Let's just say…we owed him." He turned to face Selphie, his face hardening. "We owed him too much to let him fall victim to The Lion, then or later. This was simply…" he shrugged again resignedly, "the only other option there was."

Selphie slumped in her chair, simply unable to stay mad at them. For Squall – the SeeD or the hunter, there was no difference between them in that respect – the prospect of turning into a monster could be considered nought but anathema.

For reasons which no doubt differed only slightly between them, each made a point of not looking overlong at the ward wherein Squall…well, 'rested' was probably the incorrect term. Not that there was anything to see, apart from the closed door, limned with a dim blue-white glow. Only medical staff were allowed in there now…and by this point, even they could only enter after donning welders' goggles.

—ox-oxo-xo—

_Fortunately, Squall had been far from the only one to foresee that it would happen; even more fortunately, the change was far from instantaneous. So, when Rinoa recovered from her first, relatively minor descent, she traded in the Odine bangle she'd worn for nearly a decade for the upgraded bangle which arrived from Esthar almost immediately. _This_ bangle had no hidden catches; the only way to remove it was with a solution of an extremely rare radioactive compound, mingled with Quistis' own blood and applied by Squall's thumbprint._

_With the immediate danger dealt with – for now – Squall could stop panicking and _think._ Not that it was easy – far from it!_

_The old Squall, the emotionally isolated adolescent, would not have dealt well with the current situation at _all_. And indeed, Headmaster Leonhart didn't take it particularly well either. But, once the immediate crisis had passed, he found himself thinking about solutions. Not mere 'must-save-Rinoa!' courses of craziness such as he'd indulged in during the Second Sorceress War – real solutions. Meaning that since he continued to reject the idea of entombing his wife in the Sorceress Memorial, and Odine had not been able to make any further progress in stripping the powers away from a sorceress, an entirely new way would need to be found. And so he handed most of his duties to the long-suffering Xu, and dove headfirst into the clouded waters of academe._

_He read and researched anything and everything there was to find about sorceresses – their powers, their origins, their methods. And after a while, something odd struck him:_

_'Sorceresses _could not_ divide their power…or give up their power except when on the verge of death…'_

_…Who actually came up with that?_

_After all, a sorceress could do many, many things; the legends were often inflated, being legends, but there were enough sorceresses available for historic reference to determine that many of their so-called 'mythical' powers were well-grounded in fact. And a sorceress could easily absorb the powers of another sorceress – Adel and Edea, not to mention Ultimecia herself, stood as proof of _that_. So, who was to say that they couldn't divide their power in the same way, if they wished to? Or, more importantly, that they had to be dealt a mortal wound and be forced onto the edge of death in order to relinquish their hold on it?_

_It became a particularly important question when taking into account what _else_ had occurred to him:_

_Ultimecia: the ultimate sorceress. That is, the _final_ sorceress._

_Ultimecia was the final repository of every last fragment of the sorceress power. And she had passed it on to Edea, adding to her own power…who passed it, along with her own power, on to Rinoa…who passed it all on to Adel…who passed it all back, along with her own power, to Rinoa._

_Odine, of course, had done his own research on the subject. And he confirmed what Squall had been dreading: prior to and during her time as dictator of the Estharian empire, Adel had ruthlessly hunted down and inhumed every last sorceress…all except Edea, who had escaped the purge only because of her isolation and secrecy._

_Rinoa was the last sorceress left._

_It was only a matter of time before either Rinoa, or whichever incredibly unfortunate woman she passed her power to when she died, or whoever _she_ passed it onto in turn, would become Ultimecia. And… as embarrassed as he was to think it, Mr. and Mrs. Leonhart (or as that _damned_ movie had dubbed them, 'the Lionheart and the Angelwing') represented the pinnacle of sorceress-knight relations. Edea had lasted only a few years, and Cid had merely been busy setting up SeeD. Squall, on the other hand, had spent years devoted almost entirely to his wife, bending all of his efforts to ensure her happiness and stability. Rinoa had more than doubled Matron's record in remaining uncorrupted by the malignant effects of a surfeit of sorceress power._

_In other words: nine years could be considered, more or less, the best span a sorceress of Rinoa's power could hope for – and for most women, that span would likely be far less. It wasn't just Rinoa, therefore, who was in dire peril should no solution be found._

_His friends would likely live long enough to face the Third, and Final, Sorceress War. (Squall didn't even think of including himself in that scenario; he couldn't even consider the prospect of living past Rinoa.) They would live to see the war in which only White SeeD had been there to fight, right at the end, before their past selves arrived to pull down Ultimecia and end it all. They would see SeeDs's destruction. And, so close on the heels of the First and Second Sorceress Wars, chaos would follow on the heels of their pyrrhic victory._

It was strange, he thought distantly.

It felt like…like his _self_ was sloughing away from its shell, tumbling in pieces into the chasm… And yet here he was, watching them fall.

Pain was beyond him now. Most things were beyond him. All there was left…

_Galvanised by the prospect, Squall took Rinoa to consult with Cid and Edea, who had long been researching the subject. To find that Edea and the White SeeDs, who had taken a less academic bent than Squall or Quistis, had stumbled upon a _very_ old myth._

_It seemed that according to this myth, a mother-sorceress had somehow combined with her father-knight to pass her power equally onto her three daughters; Squall didn't exactly understand it, but then, it was translated from the original language of the Centran Empire, nearly a thousand years past. Rinoa getting far more excited about the old myth than he had, Squall decided to travel on alone to Esthar to consult with Quistis and Odine, and see if their research had turned up anything worthwhile. (Not that Rinoa could have gone with him anyway – putting her in the same territory as all three of the components required to free her of the Odine bangle would be foolhardy.)_

_The scientists' research instead confirmed something which he had _truly_ not wanted to hear: in the entire recorded history of all of the current nations, there was not a single known case of a sorceress voluntarily giving up their own powers and surviving. According to Quistis, it was simply unavoidable – all previous research (much of it conducted by Odine, and Adel herself in her early days) indicated that the sorceress power was so deeply intertwined with the sorceress's soul that only the external manipulations of another sorceress could suffice to separate that power while leaving her life intact. (According to Odine, Adel had perfected this technique as a way to ensure that no fragment of the inhumed sorceress's psyche could travel into her and so 'pollute' her mind with its presence.) Odine remained confident that one day he could engineer a device which was so exquisite in its control that it could actually achieve this – but it was likely to take decades before even Estharian technology advanced far enough for the feat to be achieved._

_Silently cursing, he returned to Garden…to find Rinoa, poring feverishly over his research notes._

_("I have it!"_

_"…Have what…?"_

_"It was that old Centran myth! That's the answer!" He was still standing stock-still at the door, wondering whether he would have to restrain her again. She was still frantically shifting pieces of paper, eyes darting everywhere but at his._

_"…What is the answer?"_

_"I can divide my power! I'm a sorceress, Squall – all I have to do is focus myself hard enough, and I can do it!" She giggled and did a little twirl, happy at the prospect of an end to her ordeal. "And not just in half, either… I bet I can split in in _hundreds_ of pieces!"_

_If the whole situation wasn't so heartbreaking, he might have relaxed with the relief. But… "Rinoa… I talked with Quistis and Odine. You may be right…you might be able to do it. But, Rinoa…" She looked up at him, stilling at last. He forced the words out: "You wouldn't survive it. The power would take your life with you as it leaves."_

_"…I know, Squall…" Clutching the Griever replica beneath her throat, taking a slow, shuddering breath. Now he could see behind the joyous façade. _(…She's terrified.)_ "I just…know, in my heart… This'll work, this _has_ to work…" And she burst into tears, stumbling round the desk and falling into his shaking arms. "I…I can't keep going on like this! Please… please let me end it…!")_

_("…What might happen next time? What will I end up doing? Will I end up fighting everyone?" If she had begun by trying to make a point, she was now caught up in her gloomy, overly dramatic musings to the point where she had forgotten it. "…Scary thought, isn't it?" Well, more or less._

(Rinoa… Even if you end up as the world's enemy, I'll… I'll be your knight.)_ It didn't cross his mind at the time that perhaps _she_ wasn't the one being overly dramatic…)_

_As it turned out, he had not been the only one of them to grow up over the course of those nine years. Had it truly come down to it… he would most likely have held to that silent promise._

_Rinoa had decided not to let him make that choice. She had decided to do the right thing, the thing which would save the world. And when it came right down to it… It _was_ her choice to make._

_He would never, never forgive himself._

All there was left now…was a kind of sick certainty. He would fall. He would fail.

—ox-oxo-xo—

The others – Quistis, Ellone, Zell, and even Seifer (though not Raijin, as he was still needed for his new-found piloting skills) – had found themselves, each driven by their own reasons, to join the rest of the gang in their vigil in the infirmary's waiting room. It was, Selphie could not help but feel, a bit of a pity. Here they were, the orphanage gang and the Posse all together in one place… and there was no celebration, no cheerful words or reminiscence, nothing but a fraught silence which weighted the air like a shroud. Which, given the _nature_ of that reunion, was sadly unsurprising.

After all, one of their number was absent. Hidden away behind a door, the tiny viewing window of which could probably light the entire waiting room by itself at that point; even they had to squint now, when they looked at the door. Every so often the doctor, or one of her nurses, had to stagger outside to administer medical attention to their own suffering corneas.

_He won't give up._ It burned in her heart. _He won't give up._ It seared through her mind. _He won't give up._ It blazed at the core of her being. She could believe nothing else. She didn't know about the others; too many of them had done their grieving years ago, and remained reluctant to hold too much hope. But to Selphie Kinneas, when it came right down to it, it was all about Squall himself - and once Sir Squall Leonhart finally got around to deciding with all his heart to achieve something, he never gave up. Never.

She didn't know if the others believed that. And it didn't really matter. Because whether they did or not, they were all there, sitting in that waiting room, waiting.

What else could they do?

—ox-oxo-xo—

_The sheer earthshaking audacity of Rinoa's (and, reluctantly, Squall's) plan – not to mention the ramifications on the entire _world_ if it worked – required the approval of both the Estharian and Galbadian governments. After all, the end result would be a veritable tidal wave of sorceresses not witnessed since the dawn of recorded history. If improperly handled, the affair could culminate in a bloodbath of epic proportions._

_President Laguna Loire and President Gunter Caraway were briefed in on the plan; while unhappy about the potentially destabilising effect it would have on all nations (not just theirs), they reluctantly acquiesced – though not entirely for the publicly stated reason that it would set back Ultimecia's otherwise inevitable ascent for centuries. The former general, because he did love his estranged daughter, and would do almost anything to prevent her from becoming the woman who quite nearly destroyed the world. Laguna, because he did love his estranged son, and would do almost anything to avoid loading the love of his son's life into a distant prison such as the one that Adel had suffered. It was something that Rinoa and Squall had counted on, whatever their personal misgivings regarding their fathers – not only to agree to their plan, but to keep it secret for as long as possible from their friends. They did not look forward to the inevitable confrontation when they found out._

_Of course, they could not be fooled for long. Esthar and Galbadia did not an entire world make; the other nations had to be let in on the plan. And in any case, as in most cases when dealing with secrets of such magnitude, there were simply too many pieces of the puzzle left out in the open for their friends _not_ to figure out enough of what they planned._

_The confrontation was every bit as painful as they had feared. Squall, head hanging in shame as he was verbally lambasted on all sides for giving up on her yet again. Rinoa, her valiant defence of the plan dissolving into a waterfall of tears as she finally revealed the weakness that she had hidden so well from the others. But in the end, no matter their feelings, they simply would not be turned. And as first one, then another, then finally all of them pledged not to stand against the inevitable, Squall's heart dropped further and further._

_It was really happening. They were really going to do it._

_He was really going to lose her._

_It took months for the various nations' preparations to be completed. SeeDs and government forces had to be mustered and deployed to find the sorceresses as they developed their powers – not just to stop them if they couldn't handle the sudden infusion of corrupted power, but also to protect them from potential lynchmobs. The most isolated of villages and settlements had to be warned about the proper way to deal with the new sorceresses (don't kill them, because they'd just have to pass the power on before they died; don't mistreat them, because they might lose control and lash out; contact the authorities and let _them_ handle it – oh, and if they have a knight, _don't_ separate them). Monitoring safeguards had to be constructed and adapted to ensure that no experimentation was conducted on unwilling sorceresses – and to ensure that those who _were_ willing were not allowed to twist those experiments to nefarious use._

_All in all, it was almost a year after the first time Rinoa began to succumb that the plan was finally ready to be executed. Not that Squall spent his time simply twiddling his thumbs, or sinking into depression. No, he spent most of that year hunting feverishly for any way to free her of her burden without being forced to go with that plan. So did Rinoa, though she did so only infrequently, determined to enact her only apparent escape as she was; indeed she spent a great deal of her time reminding Squall that he'd _agreed_ to this. So did the others, with an intensity that reeked of desperation almost on a level with Squall's._

_All in vain._ He would fall. He would fail.

_And then, the chosen day arrived…_

_They were all there, of course, in Balamb Garden's rebuilt Quad under the heavily overcast evening sky. Cid and Edea, Cid's face haggard, Edea looking old and frail as she hadn't in all the time they knew her. Zell, his wife and two kids in tow. Selphie and Irvine, their hands welded in a death-grip. Quistis and Odine, the former's face determinedly stony, the latter busily taking notes. Commander Xu, attempting to comfort Quistis, not fooled for a minute. Laguna sobbing, Caraway grey-faced, with Ellone tearful between them, standing with the other five major leaders (most of whom looked distinctly uneasy, feeling out of place); Kiros, Ward and Watts, among their attendants. Even the Posse had made it – Seifer, arms crossed and trying not to look like he cared; Raijin, his hand gripping Seifer's shoulder. Fujin, pressed into Nida's side in a public display of affection which was most atypical for the reserved couple._

_Even were they alone, the Quad would have seemed crowded. Yet by far the greater portion of the available space was filled with others. Hands slicked round rifle-grips and sword-hilts. Tongues curling and lips writhing round spell-mantras. Air buzzing and heavy with the eagerness of over a dozen Guardian Forces, all hovering on the knife's-edge of their summons. And that did not include the snipers and long-range battlemages, tucked away in some places the location of which not even Squall was aware of (because Xu was _very_ good at her job)._

_After all, there was no guarantee that it would work._ He would fall. He would fail.

What was missing?

_A small dais had been set up years ago, its foundations permanent, on the site of the original Garden Festival stage, the one which had been totalled in the Garden's collision with Fisherman's Horizon. It was the emptiest place in the whole area. Only four people stood on it._

Not with the memory, not directly...something else...?

_Nudged impatiently by his research partner, Doctor Odine started and impatiently shoved his notes in a robe pocket; rummaging round in said pocket, a small aerosol canister was produced. Its contents were liberally sprayed over Rinoa's restraining bangle. The elderly scientist retreated from the dais, already continuing his note-taking._

_Quistis stepped forward, penknife in hand, other hand ungloved. The blade's point lanced a vein at the base of her palm; the blood dribbled haphazardly over one side of the already-glistening jewelry. The younger scientist left the dais, applying a potion to the cut and redonning her glove._

_The time had come. _He would fall. He would fail.

…Wait.

He would… _what?_ Curl up and wait for the abyss to swallow him whole?

(He would fall. He would fail.)

_(20:00 hours precisely. Sorceress Edea, shooting to her feet with a vicious snarl as the Triumphal Arch's portcullis slammed down to block the float. The carousel, rising to the roof of the presidential palace. The second portcullis, dropping to pin the sorceress in her triumphal cage. The stage is set, screaming for its violent climax…and the bright young star has stage fright._

_"Irvine Kinneas!"_

_And just like that, the optimum moment of surprise had slipped away._

_"I…I can't…" he mumbled, jagged shards of his pride making it almost impossible for the sharpshooter to speak. "I'm sorry, I can't do it. I always freeze like this… I try to act cool, joke around, but I just can't handle the pressure…"_

_"Forget it. Just shoot."_

_"My bullet… The sorceress… I'll go down in history. I'd change the history of Galbadia… Of the world!" Irvine's self-litany had managed to get him to face his target…but—_

_"Enough! Just shoot!"_

_"I can't, dammit!" The sniper's head sank miserably into his trembling hand._

_Squall stood there, his world collapsing around him, and his fury drained away into the numbing grey fog. And what was left, was…pity. He took pity on a man who just maybe, in the end, wasn't cracked up to be here any more than Rinoa was._

_"Irvine, calm down." His tone, no longer harsh, no longer hard, strove to steady the poor, frantic gunman. "Everyone's waiting on you. I don't care if you miss. Whatever happens, just leave the rest to us." His words seemed to still Irvine's shivers, though his eyes were still hidden under that stetson, the hat which had never looked so much like a child's costume as in that moment. "Just think of it as a signal. A sign for us to make our move."_

_He snuck a sidelong look at his mission commander, his eyes pleading for reassurance, for acceptance, for forgiveness. "Just a signal…"_

_(That's it.) He nodded gently, calmly. "Please."_

_Irvine looked down the telescopic sight, almost as if in a trance. "…Just a sign."_

_And the bullet flew, straight and true and dead on target…and _ping_ed__ harmlessly away as it ran full-tilt into the ethereal, adamantine sphere of will which the sorceress had no doubt thrown up within seconds of the second portcullis' descent._

_The failed sniper slumped to the ground. "…I'm sorry."_

_Squall's death was nigh. He had no chance, none at all, of taking on the sorceress – let alone Seifer _and_ an entire battalion of the Galbadian army – and surviving the attempt. But then, he had known since the moment that Irvine had first hesitated. Clad in the certainty of his impending demise, heart and mind embraced like a lover in its numbing clasp, he forgave Irvine Kinneas. "It's OK. Your aim was perfect. Just leave the rest to me. I'm goin' for the sorceress.")_

It was the first time he had felt such numbness. But it was far from the last. That speech he'd given, before ordering the Garden into a ramming course directly into Galbadia Garden's prow, had been saturated with it. That leap into endless space, that somehow ended with Rinoa in his arms, would have seemed insanity to him without it. When everything else was stripped away from him, it was all that was left. It was _him_.

And it was what he had all but abandoned. It was what The Lion had tried to steal from him.

(He would fall. He would fail.)

What The Lion…

(He would fall. He would fail.)

…What The Lion was _still_ trying to steal.

_The village's inhabitants, creeping out of their houses at last, to gape at the half-dismembered carcass of the behemoth which had plagued them for weeks, bleeding all over the central square…and the hunter, walking away without a word. The long-overdue company of Dollet soldiers, gaping at the decaying corpses of dozens of anacondaurs – and crying out at the sight of the single neat row of graves lining the sides of the hamlet's main road…and the hunter, dropping the worn shovel beside the last grave and wearily retrieving his bloody gunblade. The prisoners, hearing the locks on their cells snick open, emerging to the spattered remains of the bandits which had captured them for the ransom…and the hunter, silently dropping a pack filled to the brim with pillaged potions and antidotes at their feet._

_The labourer, hands clasped to his stomach to stem the bloodflow…the hunter, blade dancing death around the labourer, shattering belhemels and bissecting blood souls with Lionheart's every sweep. The farmwife, one hand clenching despite the agony against the flaccid grip of her dead husband, surrounded by her dead children, dead and gone and she soon to join them…the hunter, completely ignoring the wheezing gasps and sticky twitches of the eviscerated, dying wendigo, holding onto her other hand. The child sorceress, weeping and wailing for the loss of the little brother who had been her knight…the hunter, carrying her sodden, quivering form in his arms as her hometown came into view over the hill's crest._

_Squall Leonhart's fingers, gently brushing away the encrusted gore from Selphie Kinneas's green-tinged cheek. "_Yes_, it hurts. _Yes_, I hate it. _Yes_, I avoid it. I _am_ human."_

…What The Lion could _never_ steal. What The Lion would never comprehend, even if it _could_ steal it. Because without it, Squall Leonhart would have been and would always be that which he had devoted his entire life to protecting other people from: a monster.

The chasm's walls reared up around him, and the fog rose to swallow him, and the shroud was torn asunder…

And _this_ time, when that sick certainty cradled him in its numbing embrace…it was at least his own.

—ox-oxo-xo—

"What the—!" Variations on the theme burst out from half-a-dozen throats.

That eye-tearing actinic light, blasting out from the viewing portal, had just brightened even higher…and turned as golden as the noon sun.

—ox-oxo-xo—

_The time had come. As Rinoa nervously raised her hand, the sopping bangle hanging from her wrist, _Squall's mind suddenly shuddered, hovering on the edge of perceptory overload. There was _him_, watching the scene from without, wrapped in his numbness. There was _him_, watching the memory from within his younger self, wrapped in _his_ numbness. And then… _Squall raised his own hands, the left clasping hers comfortingly, the right taking hold of the bangle, pressing a thumbprint into its bloodsoaked metal; the circle came away in his hand._

_Rinoa shivered, began to whimper, clutching at her head… _…There was _him_, enduring it all, thrashing about in near-mindless panic as the sorceress power strained to slip its bounds and sink its talons into her, from within _her_ mind.

(_"Calm down, Rinoa. I won't let her harm you. Focus on me…that's right, you can do it…")_

_("Calm down, Squall. You're only going to send her into a panic…" It was Ellone, his face cradled in her hands, hovering over his unconscious form in the Headmaster's sleeping quarters. "She can hear you, you know she can, you don't need to shout…")_

_(His heart crumbling to dust, trying to pour all his remaining feelings into his voice, making it as soothing and hypnotic as possible as she twitched and snarled before him…)_

_(The grieving Headmaster regathering himself with an effort, trying to find the remainder of his crumbled heart, trying to find _something_ to give to the woman who had already died…_

_And, under the pain and despair, within the grief, he found it.)_

_And just about every mouth in the Quad dropped, hanging slack, even the weapons sagging in nerveless hands for a few seconds._ Even _he_ was impressed. Not in all his memories, past or present, or even in the countless piles of research he had combed, had Squall ever found anything like _this_._ The Balamb Headmaster was wreathed in the outlines of what an _aura_ spell might have looked like…if its golden glory were magnified a hundredfold. It coiled like flame from his shoulders, it flared out from his brow like a crown crafted into the sun's image. Even Rinoa's emerging wings were tinged with that glorious aura, their usual lunar radiance acquiring an incongruously sunny tint._

_("That's it…" He was too focused on Rinoa to notice. And if he had, he would not have cared.)_

_("That's it…" He could not help but notice, given her awe and wonder and relief. But he was too busy cradling Rinoa in his numbness – the one thing he had left to offer her, the one thing she could take – to care overmuch.)_

_("That's it…" Ellone slumped back, letting the tears fall at last. What she had sensed through Rinoa's eyes, through Squall's eyes, in that moment… after he woke up, she told him it was the single most beautiful, heart-breaking thing she had ever witnessed.)_

_"So…" Rinoa straightened at last, drawing her first easy breath for minutes. "This is _you_…" Her voice still shook a little, for the sheer emotion. "…_this_ is who you are…?"_

_"…Whatever." Drowning desperately in her magnificent mahogany gaze, he smiled._

_("…Whatever.") Drawing her essence as deeply into himself as he could, he smiled._

Almost unbidden, the smallest of smiles pulled at his lips.

_She jumped, ever so slightly – and then burst into a fit of giggles. "Oh, thank you Squall…" And Rinoa threw herself into his arms with characteristic abandon, her lips crushing against his for the last time._

_There were no words. There were no tears. There was no point._

_Leaving his arms at last, she moved away far enough to give the dozens of guns pointed squarely at her head a chance to hit her without Squall getting in the way. Those guns tracked her as a lazy flutter of her wings sent her drifting gently into the air, kept tracking as Rinoa Heartilly Leonhart's ever-more-brightly glowing form ascended into the low-hanging clouds._

_Left back on the ground, Squall's blazing silhouette brightened in lockstep, becoming almost impossible to look upon. (His eyes, like magnets, remained rivetted on the centre of his life.)_

_(Squall cried out as Rinoa's very essence seemed to expand and thin and tear, his viewpoint rent in hundreds of directions in a single instant—)_

_For a moment, the entire _sky_ shone._

_And then there was a rain of white feathers._

—ox-oxo-xo—

They had been kept out all morning – first by the doctor's orders, and then by the manifestly dangerous intensity of that light. And much as they admitted the necessity, they were not happy about it in the least. So, when that golden light winked out like someone had found the 'off' switch, the lot of them leapt off their chairs and rushed in a stampeding mass for the infirmary ward's door…

—ox-oxo-xo—

He remembered everything.

He remembered…_**everything**_.

_The ring…_ Squall became aware – had, in a sense, always _been_ aware – that his lefthand had been clenched into a fist for some reason. Upon a cursory examination, he noted absently that its gloved surface was slick and gummy with blood. But that was irrelevant. He opened his palm, not without some effort. And there it was.

The ring… it was the key to it all.

The Lion towered over him, claws out and glittering, jaws open and slathering, poised to strike…and he completely ignored it, fishing out his long-lost ring from between his stiff, aching fingers and carefully sliding the sticky band of custom-crafted platinum onto the middle finger of his bloodsoaked left hand.

—ox-oxo-xo—

…And, shoving a half-blinded nurse out the way, piled through the door and into Squall's room. Their eyes gravitated as one toward the single cot.

His eyes were open and lucid, his mouth set in a sardonic smirk, his left hand raised…the Griever ring adorning his middle finger as he…

Wait a minute. Was he flipping off _the ceiling_…?

"You lose."

And Squall Leonhart disappeared, leaving behind nothing but an IV tube of AB-type plasma dribbling forlornly onto the mattress.

* * *

A/N: See? – monster. I tried experimenting with different POV methods in Chapters 11/12 – it seems to be pretty effective, but _**GODS**_ it's cumbersome when you have to write it… You see why it took me a damn _month_ to get around to updating? (Not to mention the whole Squall/Rinoa tragic-romance aspect, which simply could not be avoided at this point. A little cheesy for my taste, but still had to be written.)

Anyway… If the rest of it goes to plan – and by now, given that I've more or less cleared the last major hurdle on this, it probably will – I'll be releasing the next and final update (hurrah!) in a couple of weeks. Again, my apologies for the delay in this latest update; I sincerely hope you think it was worth it. (And, if you've already taken all that time to read this ridiculously overlong chapter, you might as well take a little more time to leave a review on the subject, no?)


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